Send My Condolences to Good
by LuckyLadybug
Summary: With Bart critically wounded and three new enemies on their trail, Beau takes refuge with his cousin in an old stable during a rainstorm. He wasn't expecting to be plunged right into a local crime boss's territory, nor for said crime boss to show them some apparent mercy. But is the man genuine, or have the Maverick boys left the frying pan for the fire?
1. Chapter 1

**Maverick**

**Send My Condolences to Good**

**By Lucky_Ladybug**

**Notes: The characters aren't mine and the story is! I continue to want to explore Beau and Bart's relationship, as one thing I find puzzling in the series is that, to me, it isn't always easy to tell that they care about each other, whereas with Bret and Bart, that's always plain. The character they meet up with isn't mine either, albeit I delight in fleshing out his personality since he only appeared in one episode of **_**The Wild Wild West**_**. Perhaps it's fitting for them to encounter him, as both Western series are unconventional as far as traditional Westerns go.**

**Chapter One**

The rain pounded on the small stable as inside, a young man knelt in a hay-covered corner and half-cradled another young man close to him. Blood was everywhere, seeping through his torn clothes and dripping into the hay.

"Well, that won't be any good for the horses tomorrow," the first man said in a pronounced British accent. His blue eyes were filled with worry, illuminated every time the lightning flashed outside the dirty window above them.

The wounded man groaned, turning his head to the side. "Where are we?" he mumbled. His left hand went to his side, soon finding the crimson-soaked cloth covering the skin made jagged by a sore loser's knife.

"I don't know exactly," was the reply. "A stable somewhere near the waterfront."

"The riverboat's . . . already left?"

"In this storm, I doubt it."

"You could've kept going, then."

"Not likely. In your condition, Cousin Bart, you were almost ready to take a tumble off the horse." The healthy man carefully tried to lay his relation down in the hay. The stab wound needed more of his attention.

Bart cringed as his position was altered. He gripped more tightly at the injury, ignoring the blood oozing from under the makeshift bandage and onto his hand. "Is there a doctor around?"

"I'm going to go out and look in a moment. The first order of business was to get you someplace dry. Although this certainly wouldn't have been my choice of surroundings." A horse whinnied somewhere in the darkness as if to emphasize the point.

"With our luck, the roof will probably start leaking," Bart said.

"Well, don't make things worse by imagining up more trouble for us!" was the lightly scolding reply. "We have more than enough as it is."

Bart coughed, tasting blood on his lips. "I think we're about to have more anyway. Beau . . ." He sank back into the hay, weakly closing his eyes. "If I don't make it, you and Bret can divide up my emergency stash."

"Stop talking nonsense!" Beau shot back. His hands trembled slightly as he worked with the cloth. It was clearly useless now. Beau added his own handkerchief on top of it.

"The way I'm feeling right now, it doesn't sound like nonsense," Bart moaned.

"It is," Beau insisted. "Now, just settle down and go back to sleep. I'll go find the nearest doctor."

Bart gave a tired sigh. "Sometimes I really wonder why Pappy thought gambling would be such a safe thing to do." His eyes fluttered and closed.

When he suddenly went limp, Beau went stiff. Bart hadn't been tired enough to fall asleep so quickly. Either he had passed out, or . . .

Beau shook the horrible thought from his mind as he bent down, trying to feel his cousin's breath on his face. Finding it, he leaned back with a silent prayer of relief. He still had time to save Bart's life.

An involuntary shudder traveled up his spine as he stood and reached for the blankets they had brought with them on their trip. The agonizing worry he felt for Bart now was not something he would wish on anyone. It hadn't been that many months when he had been shot in the back protecting Bart. He hated to think of how Bart must have felt when he had discovered Beau lying nearly dead on the floor. At least some of those feelings were likely similar to what Beau had felt hours earlier when he had run to Bart's side after shooting his attacker and discovered Bart's blood everywhere.

Unlike Beau in the earlier incident, Bart had managed to stay conscious for a while after taking the blow. But with the doctor out of town and the stabber's friends hot on their trail, they had been forced to leave town in spite of Bart's dire condition. He had faded in and out of consciousness on the desperate ride through the wilderness, and once the rain had started, Beau had known they would have to stop somewhere.

He clenched his teeth as he stood after adjusting the blankets. Leaving Bart alone was not something he wanted to do. What if their latest batch of enemies caught up with them? True, it was probably mainly Beau they wanted, but they might decide to use Bart against him.

He could try to cover Bart with hay, he supposed, while leaving a space for him to breathe. Maybe if they were lucky, Bart would stay unconscious and not make any sounds to alert anyone while Beau was gone. Or if he did, maybe the horses would whinny and cover up any other sounds.

He was just starting to undo a fresh bale of hay when a sound in the doorway made him look up with a start. A match had been lit and was being brought to the tip of a cigar. A silhouetted figure stood in the doorway, seemingly unconcerned as he studied the scene.

Beau gripped the knife he had been using to slice open the hay. "Who's there?" he demanded. "I'm armed."

"You're trespassing, Pal," a gravelly Southern voice spoke out of the near-darkness. He shook the match and flicked it outside before strolling into the stable—the picture of calm, cool, and collected.

"It couldn't be helped." Beau pulled out his gun with his other hand before lowering the blade. "My cousin is very badly hurt. He needs medical help now! I was just going for a doctor."

The Southerner—Virginian, from the sound of it—was still unconcerned. Taking a lantern off a hook, he lit it with another match and brought it down to examine the scene. "What happened to him?" he asked, giving no indication of what he thought to see Bart lying in the bloodstained hay.

"He was playing poker and won. Someone didn't like that." Bitterness slipped into Beau's voice with that statement. It had been almost a mirror of the situation that had resulted in Beau being shot months earlier. The bullet would have drilled into an unsuspecting Bart if Beau hadn't been there to tackle him to the floor. This time, Bart had seen the weapon but had been unable to prevent his enemy from using it.

The Virginian nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, we get a lot of that around here." He bent down, pulling back the blankets to examine the wound.

"Well, is there a doctor around?!" Beau exclaimed with impatience. "Don't you understand? If he doesn't get the proper help, he'll die!"

"That's not much to me." The Virginian straightened, replacing the blankets. "Except I hope you're gonna reimburse me for the hay he's damaged."

"I'll pay you whatever you want, _after_ Bart is treated by a doctor," Beau snarled. "My God, man, don't you have any heart?!" It wasn't something he said often, especially considering the types of people he regularly encountered, but he was furious. This was not what either he or Bart needed right now!

"See, I'm a businessman," was the smooth reply. "This here stable services some of the people who work for me. I control most of this town. The doctor, too. I can have him out here in a jiffy, if I want to."

"Then I suggest you decide to want to." Beau poked his gun into the stranger's ribcage. "I've toppled towns controlled by one man before. You see, I don't like them very much. Especially when they're not in my or my family's favor."

"Don't threaten me." The Virginian's voice hardened. "It might interest you to know that I just had a visit from three angry poker players, willing to pay me cold, hard cash if I'd turn you over to them. They're not interested in your cousin, just you, since you shot their leader."

Beau gripped the gun all the stronger. "How much did they offer you?"

"Five hundred a piece. Fifteen hundred dollars just to get at you, Mr. Maverick."

"I'll offer you two thousand right now to take us both in and keep us safe from them until my cousin is well!" Beau said in desperation. Bart probably wouldn't be happy about Beau giving over his emergency stash to this character, but once they were safely out of here, Beau would win at poker and pay him back. And maybe the fact that Beau would be giving up his emergency money too would soften the blow.

The Virginian's eyes glittered. "You have that kind of money on you?"

"We both do," Beau said. "Here, look." He pulled back his coat, revealing the thousand-dollar bill pinned inside. "My cousin has one as well."

The mercenary puffed on his cigar. "You know," he said, "I could easily plug both of you, take your money, and then turn your wounded body over to your enemies for them to finish off."

"Yes, but will you?" Beau replied, praying he wasn't going to regret challenging such a dark soul.

"That's the predictable thing for someone like me to do." But the Virginian sauntered away, unconcerned of the gun trained on him.

"I hope I'm not mistaken that I hear a 'but' in that sentence," Beau said.

At the doorway the other man paused, holding his cigar between his fingers. "I hate to lose out on any money promised to me. What if I take your money and agree to tend to your cousin here, if you'll surrender quietly and go out to take your medicine?"

Beau's stomach rolled. "Is that the only way you'll help him?"

"What if it is?"

"My life for his, then." Beau drew a shuddering breath. "I already sacrificed myself for him once. It nearly broke him."

The Virginian leaned against the doorframe. "Broke mind or broke body. Which'll it be?"

Beau clenched a fist. "I could shoot you where you stand," he said.

"Yeah, but you'd bring the whole town down on your head. You wouldn't want that for your cousin either, would you?"

It was a rhetorical question. Of course Beau couldn't put them in that kind of danger. But how could he go through with the proposal he'd just been given?

Well, maybe with a little Maverick luck, he could outsmart the three angry poker players.

At last he sighed in resignation. "If that's the only way you'll help Cousin Bart, then I have no choice but to agree."

"What?!" To his astonishment, the Virginian was actually rattled, very nearly dropping his cigar in the stable. He tossed it outside in the rain and spun about to stare at Beau. "You actually mean that? You'd go to your death to save _him?_"

Beau held his ground. "I'd hope that I might still come out of it alive, but yes, I'd go realizing I might very well die. I'd have to pray that Bart would understand I had no other choice."

The Virginian ambled over to him now, holding out his hand. "Give me your money," he said. "Both thousands. I'll take care of you."

Beau stared at him, tense, suspicious. "Why? You just said you hate to lose _any_ money promised to you."

"There's a reward out on those three," was the reply. "I can turn 'em in and get that." He studied Beau in the lantern light. "The fact is, it's been ages since I've met anyone crazy enough to willingly give up his life for somebody else. I wondered if I'd ever see it again. It's a breath of fresh air after a steady stream of sniveling cowards." It almost sounded like he muttered, "Like me," in an undertone.

Slowly Beau reached up and unpinned the thousand from his coat. "Bring the doctor and I'll have the other thousand ready for you," he said.

"I'll bring the doctor and a carriage," the Virginian said, accepting the thousand with ease. "You can hide out at the place where I stay when I'm in town. Your enemies won't think to look for you there."

"Thank you," Beau said, still wary. "By the way, what do I call you?"

The Virginian turned slightly, revealing a ghastly disfigurement on his left cheek. "Snakes," he said. "Snakes Tolliver." Without waiting for a response, he headed for the door. "Keep down and keep quiet till I come back."

"I can assure you I will," Beau said, watching the scarred man until he was out in the rain and out of sight. Then, sighing, Beau leaned back against the wall and watched the still-unconscious Bart. He could see Bart was breathing, but not much more than that.

"Well, Cousin Bart, I wonder what sort of fine mess we're getting into now," he mused.

He had heard of Snakes Tolliver, the riverboat gambler and suspected crime boss, and had wondered if they might be near his territory. Snakes had a reputation for being cold, cruel, and selfish—and an explosives expert. For him to be willing to take in both Bart and Beau, Beau had to wonder what other schemes he was planning.

Perhaps, he decided instantly, once Bart was out of danger, he could work on a plan to get their two thousand dollars back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

As it turned out, Snakes was true to his word. It wasn't more than fifteen minutes later that Beau heard the clop of horses' hooves outside the stable. He got up, hurrying to the doorway to meet the dark-cloaked man climbing down from the carriage. "Are you the doctor?" he demanded, wanting to be sure.

"Yes." The older man turned, no-nonsense as he gripped his medical bag in his hand. "Where's your cousin, Son?"

"Over here." Beau led him to the back of the stable, where Bart still lay unconscious. "He was coughing before he swooned. There might be internal bleeding."

The doctor frowned deeply behind his white mustache and pointed beard. He quickly knelt next to Bart and pulled back the blankets, then carefully removed the soaked handkerchiefs to see the wound. "How long ago did this happen?"

"Several hours now." Beau watched him nervously. "Can you do anything for him here?"

"Not much. It's too dark with just one little lantern." The doctor looked up at him. "It's not far to Mr. Tolliver's home. He requested you both be taken there. Help me get him into the carriage."

Beau was very willing to comply. As he helped the doctor lift Bart's limp body, the wounded man gave a weak moan.

"Bart?" Beau looked down at him, hoping for a return to consciousness.

He was partially rewarded; Bart moved one arm. "Full House, gentlemen," he mumbled. "I win."

"Let's just hope you will, dear cousin," Beau said under his breath.

It was a relief that the carriage had been parked right next to the door, for more reasons than one. The rain was still pelting harshly when they moved outside. But if Bart felt the insistent drops, he gave no indication of it. He was silent again, unconscious or close to it.

With the doctor's help, Bart was gently laid on the cushioned seat in the back of the carriage. Beau sat on the floor near him and held onto him as the physician climbed into the box and snapped the reins for the horses to go.

The movement of the carriage shocked Bart into a semi-conscious state again. His eyes snapped open and he stared blankly upward at the roof of the vehicle. "What's . . . what's this?"

"We're going for a little ride again," Beau told him. "Then the doctor will see what's wrong with you and mend it."

"I know what's wrong with me," Bart retorted. "I had what felt like a six-inch blade cut me up like a pig for dinner."

"Well, your sense of humor is returning," Beau said, trying to keep his voice light. "You can't be that bad off."

He knew the truth, of course. But he hoped that if Bart didn't believe he was dying, he wouldn't become overly stressed and make recovery even more difficult.

There _would be_ a recovery, of course. There had to be.

Beau had been desperately trying not to think along other, tragic lines. Part of him, however, knew he had to face the possibility. And this time, unlike when he had been shot and dying, he wasn't sure Bret could even be contacted to come. Not until their current enemies were caught and out of the way, at least, and Beau wasn't sure Snakes would make good on his idea to turn them in for the reward. Maybe Snakes had only said that to try to lure Beau into a false sense of security.

He looked over at Bart when the silence continued. Bart's eyes were closed again. Had he already passed out?

He leaned back, watching nervously as the carriage continued to hasten towards their destination. With Bart likely unconscious, there wasn't much Beau could do while they were moving. His thoughts began to wander.

He had been raised with Bret and Bart like a third brother, despite being a cousin. But Bret and Bart had always been so close that it wasn't always easy for someone else to enter into the pictures. At least, that was how he had seen it as a child. And it hadn't helped that his Uncle Beau wasn't always sure what to make of him and his contrary behavior. Sometimes, Beau hadn't been sure his uncle even wanted him associating with his cousins, for fear of him being a bad influence.

He was in some ways the most aloof of the three, but that could be at least partially why. That, and not wanting to intrude. It was often reflected in the way he and Bart interacted—or at least, how they had interacted before he had been shot. That had rather changed their dynamic a bit.

Prior to that, they were the least likely to display open affection and closeness for each other. Their interaction had been largely superficial and at arm's length. They had been happy to see each other upon Beau's return from England, but in general, when one was in danger, the other did not show the full measure of his distress, if he showed any at all. They did honestly care about each other and always had, but they had rarely been conventional in how they showed it.

Perhaps it was because Beau had been gone so long and they weren't sure how to react to each other. Perhaps Beau's standoffishness played into it as well, as he had thought.

Sometimes it was probably that each believed the other could get out of whatever mess he was currently in without too much difficulty. After all, they were in and out of trouble almost every day. And maybe sometimes they didn't know or understand just how serious a current problem was, at least not at first. They didn't want to jump and run at every issue, only for many of those to be solved by the time they could get there.

Some people had the mistaken idea that they were not close at all, and that they would abandon each other for money or women if the opportunity came along. Well, sometimes there had been a bit of that—they were Mavericks, after all, and had been brought up to go after money whenever an easy and honest and safe way to get it came along. And they all appreciated the fairer sex—probably too much, judging by how often femme fatales had tricked them into losing funds and sometimes almost their lives. But if it came to one of them in danger, the other would never leave him to suffer. That was what separated them from so many others who were filled with a strong desire for money.

It was strange, really, that after years of being in disastrous situations, none of them had ever been seriously hurt until Beau had been shot. And now Bart had been stabbed and was bleeding to death.

_This had better not be a precedent for the future. That's all I can say,_ Beau thought bitterly.

He wondered if he had been surprised by how deeply Bart had taken the shooting to heart. Naturally he would be upset for anyone to take a bullet for him, but for it to be his cousin was so much worse. Still, when they typically weren't so open, and not as close as Bart was to Bret, maybe Bart's reaction had surprised Beau a bit.

He was still closer to Bart than he was to Bret, however. And he wondered if Bart even had any idea at all of how Beau had not wanted to be in the way of Bart and Bret as a boy. He doubted it; Bart probably believed that Beau was aloof solely because he wanted to be. Well, maybe that was truer now, but after years of it, it was hard to break the habit.

Bret had decided, following Beau's physical recovery, that the three of them needed to be more open with each other and talk more. None of them had recovered emotionally or mentally from the incident at that time, but sharing those discussions had certainly helped. Since then, they had tried in general to be more open with each other. Nevertheless, they all still kept some secrets; Beau's was his feelings as a child. He saw no reason to talk about that as an adult, especially when it would likely only hurt Bret and Bart.

He sighed, looking back to Bart's still form. He was breathing; Beau could still see the rise and fall of his chest. But Beau could also see that he was in pain.

"Is it much farther?" he yelled to the doctor.

"We're here now," was the answer.

Beau looked out in fascination at the sound of heavy iron gates opening. A house that may have once been part of a Southern plantation stretched before them, and Beau had to admit approval. He could never agree with the life Snakes had chosen, but he certainly lived well.

The carriage drove around to the side of the house and then stopped under an overhanging part of the roof supported by white pillars. Beyond it was a side door into the house.

It opened as the doctor was getting out of the box. "Bring him in here," Snakes directed.

"Well, you certainly are hospitable, when you feel like it," Beau commented. He carefully lifted Bart off the carriage seat and down into the doctor's and Snakes' arms. Deeply unconscious now, Bart didn't so much as jerk in pain. The worry rose higher in Beau's heart.

He followed them into the expensively furnished home and to a room on the ground floor. He was relieved it wasn't upstairs; he didn't like the thought of moving Bart that much.

Again the doctor began to pull back the blankets to examine the wound, this time under the bright lights of a small chandelier. "I'll need you to go out while I do this," he said to Beau. "You might grow upset and be a distraction. You understand."

"I wouldn't be a distraction," Beau said in annoyance.

"Just come on into the hall," Snakes directed. "He's completely out of it. There's nothing you can do for him right now."

Sighing, and admitting to that unfortunate truth, Beau complied with the physician's wishes and followed Snakes out of the room. Snakes leaned against the opposite wall, unconcerned.

Beau folded his arms, taking the time to study his unusual benefactor. Snakes was younger than Beau had imagined. Under the equally bright lights in the hall, he couldn't have been more than his late twenties.

"You know, you're awfully young to be controlling a town," Beau commented. "Unless you inherited it from your family."

"I ain't got no family, Pal. It's just me. Always has been." There was a definite touch of bitterness to Snakes' tone.

"I'm sorry," Beau said, and he meant it. He couldn't quite imagine an entire lifetime without a family. His Uncle Beau had always advocated family togetherness. Maybe that was why he had allowed Beau to associate with his cousins in spite of any concerns over his behavior.

Snakes chuckled to himself and sneered. "You've got a big family, haven't you?"

"What do you mean by that?" Beau kept his voice guarded.

"I've met your cousin. The other one, not the one in there."

"Bret?" Beau blinked. "He's never mentioned meeting you."

"There's probably a lot of things he doesn't mention. You don't tell him all about your travels, do you?"

"No," Beau admitted. "I suppose I'm just surprised that you're controlling a town at all if you've met Cousin Bret. He doesn't take kindly to that sort of thing any more than I do."

"I lost more than one town because of him," Snakes replied darkly. "He just never happened to run across me while I was at this one."

A shiver went up Beau's spine. "You sound very bitter towards him."

"You can understand why. I don't like being shown up by anyone, let alone a happy-go-lucky sort like him. We've got a mutual dislike for each other."

"And you can surely understand why I'm suddenly more leery than ever of being in your home and at your mercy," Beau shot back.

"You think I brought you here to get revenge on Bret?" Snakes scoffed.

"I think that's highly possible," Beau said. "Or maybe to see if you could outsmart another Maverick, since you obviously had no luck outsmarting Cousin Bret."

That brought a laugh. "Heh, maybe so. But it would be pretty nasty of me to take advantage of you when you'd be too upset about your cousin to be at your sharpest."

"Well, from what I've heard about you, that's the least you might do!" Beau retorted.

Snakes just shrugged. "If you believe everything you hear, you're in trouble."

Beau gave him a long, searching look. "Why _did_ you decide to help us? You won't have me believe it was solely because I showed some level of unselfish concern for another human being. Someone whose business is organized crime surely can't put much value on unselfish behavior."

"Those Italian crime families sure put value on loyalty," Snakes said. "Me, I figure it's a dog-eat-dog world out there. Everybody's backstabbing everybody else to get ahead. Family, friends . . . nobody means anything to anyone if they've got dollar signs for eyes.

"Maybe you were putting me on about being willing to go face those three gorillas in exchange for your cousin's well-being, but I don't think you were. I think you really care about the guy. I think you care so much that you really would give up your life for his if you had to. And that fascinates me. Maybe I wanted to keep you close and study you for a while."

Beau pushed away from the wall, suddenly angry. "I'm not something to scrutinize under a microscope! Neither is the love between family members. If you can't understand it as it is, you won't be able to just by watching someone who does." It occurred to him that he sounded more like Bart with his rant, but at the moment he didn't care.

Snakes was unfazed. "Study was a bad choice of a word," he said. "I guess what I really mean is, I didn't figure on someone crazy enough to sacrifice himself being an intelligent sort of man. And you seem like you've got brains. I'd like to talk with you."

"Well, I doubt I'll be very good company," Beau shot back. "And I don't know that I want to talk with you."

"You're not going to have much else to do," Snakes pointed out.

The door opened then and Beau spun around, hope and dread rising in equal parts in his heart. "Well?" he demanded impatiently.

The doctor sighed, rubbing his forehead. "There is some indication of internal bleeding," he said. "I won't know for sure unless I operate. And if I'm going to do that, it has to be immediately."

Beau drew a shaking breath. "You have my permission, if you were looking for it. But Doctor . . ." He looked pleadingly at the older man. "How much of a chance has he got?"

The physician hesitated long enough that Beau really knew the answer without anything being said. "If I or another doctor could have seen him as soon as this happened, he would have a much stronger chance," he finally spoke.

Beau clenched a fist. "The doctor for the town we were in wasn't there. We traveled for miles through the wilderness. This was the next closest town!"

"I know. I'm not blaming you, Mr. Maverick," the doctor quickly said. "I'm just giving you the facts, such as they are. Your cousin is young and strong, and stubborn to have held on this long at all. That will all count in his favor. But cases like this aren't encouraging." He paused. "Do you want to see him before I begin?"

Beau ran a hand through his hair. "Is he conscious at all?"

"Not really," the doctor told him. "He won't understand what you're saying."

Beau wasn't entirely sure what he would say, either. "Nevermind it," he said. "Just get on with it. Give him every possible chance."

The physician nodded. "I'll need something to sterilize my tools."

"There's a bottle of whiskey in the drawer," Snakes offered. "It'd be quicker than waiting for water to boil."

"Thank you, Mr. Tolliver," the doctor said. He went back in the room. "I'll let you know when I'm finished." He shut the door and Beau jumped. The sound was surely not as loud and as final as it seemed to him to be, but it was chilling all the same.

Snakes reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a deck. "You could be waiting a long time. How about playing some poker?"

Beau was still suspicious. "Is that a marked deck?"

"You can look for yourself. It's not." Snakes held it out.

Beau glanced at it and shook his head. "You're too clever for such an obvious trick. I certainly don't believe that deck is honest, but your scheme has to be something else." His eyes glittered. "I'll play."

"Good," Snakes said. "And maybe we can have some conversation at the same time."

"Maybe," Beau said.

It was true, there wasn't much else to do but think and worry. And maybe if he learned Snakes' weaknesses, he could figure out how to get the two thousand dollars back.

That certainly sounded appealing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Snakes had appointed himself the dealer. As he passed out the cards to Beau while they sat in his drawing room, he said, "So what's it like, coming from a big family?"

"The Mavericks are a very close-knit bunch," Beau said, still guarded.

"Yeah, but do they really welcome someone who isn't like the rest of them?" Snakes dealt himself in and set the rest of the deck aside.

Beau stiffened. "What are you trying to insinuate?"

"Let's get one thing straight," Snakes said. "After I got beat down by your cousin the first time, I looked up everything I could about the family. You're the one who got sent to England for five years because he dared to come back from the war a hero, right?"

This was definitely not a conversation Beau wanted to have with someone like Snakes Tolliver! "I was in England," he said. "That must be obvious from my voice. But I could have been there for any number of reasons. For schooling, perhaps."

"Yeah, schooling on how you're not to go against the patriarch of the family." Snakes studied his hand. "Your uncle runs things with a real iron fist, don't he?"

"That's not true," Beau defended. "He just does what he feels is best for each family member's continuing safety." Even so, he felt a certain knotting in his stomach. Snakes had hit a nerve, something that Beau had thought himself in his darkest moments, especially after he had been shot and his uncle had verbally raked him over the coals for it.

"Whatever you say," Snakes shrugged.

The first few hands were silent, the only speech that of poker talk. It wasn't until the sixth hand that Snakes tried again. "I'm surprised your uncle didn't disown all of you boys for going to war."

"Bret and Bart had no choice in the matter," Beau said stiffly. "They were drafted."

"But you weren't." Snakes drew another card from the deck. "It was the same with me; I enlisted. Lied about my age to get in, even."

"You must have been very gallant about the cause," Beau said.

"Not really," Snakes said, and Beau found he wasn't that surprised. "All I really wanted was a change of scenery. I grew up in an orphanage and hated it. Everybody felt the same about me, too."

"What were you, the terror and the con artist of the place?" Beau asked.

"Nah, I was the kicked puppy," Snakes drawled. "It might sound unbelievable now, but I used to be a pretty nice kid growing up. Maybe I did a little petty theft, but only to get some decent food or a little money to get some decent food. Maybe a decent toy now and then. But I was still pretty willing to share or help people in trouble . . . even though things rarely went right for me when I did. It was only during the war that I finally realized that people didn't really care about anyone but themselves and that they got the greatest pleasure from tearing other people down. I was sick of being the one they tore down."

"So you decided the thing to do was to become like the ones doing the tearing down," Beau finished.

"Basically, yeah." Snakes grinned. "Being meek and submissive sure never got me anything like this." He gestured at the well-furnished room.

"And do you like tearing people down?" Beau couldn't refrain from asking.

Snakes' eyes flickered and he looked down at his hand. "If they deserve it, yeah." He looked up again. "Don't tell me you don't like dealing out your brand of justice on the people you think deserve it."

Beau frowned, uncomfortable. "I only go after con artists or other criminals, especially if they've already done something to me or my family."

"Same principle, really. Okay, we have different methods, but you're not going to get me to believe we're not ultimately after the same thing. Neither of us is the law, but we feel like coming down on people we don't like."

Beau didn't like being compared to a crime boss at all. "I do it because I don't like thinking of all the innocent people who will be hurt if they're allowed to operate," he said. "You do it out of malice or vengeance."

"You don't know why I do what I do." Snakes suddenly sounded cold. His next words were lighter again. "But if you're all about helping the innocent, that really goes against what your uncle taught you, doesn't it? He's all about looking after number one?"

"No," Beau protested. "Well . . . maybe he says things like that, but all of the Mavericks believe in helping the innocent, even Uncle Beau."

"He doesn't practice what he preaches, in other words. Well, a lot of people are like that. Probably most." Snakes won the next hand and smirked.

"I'll deal this time," Beau said, collecting the cards and grabbing the deck.

"Go ahead," Snakes said calmly. He leaned back. "One thing I have to wonder is, if your uncle is for helping people, why did he blow his stack over you enlisting in the war? Surely he knows that gambling and fighting crooks are some of the most dangerous things around."

Beau practically flung the cards at Snakes' side of the table. He honestly didn't know the answer to that. It was something that had been bothering him for some time, even moreso after he had been shot. Bart himself had raised the question back in the barn. It chilled Beau to remember that. If the surgery didn't go well, it might be one of the last things Bart would ever say.

"And to punish you for doing something that got you branded a hero? Wow, that is some pretty backwards thinking."

That snapped Beau's patience. "And you think _your _logic isn't backwards?" he exclaimed. "Abandoning all decency and behaving like an animal operating by the law of the jungle?"

Snakes was unconcerned. "Maybe it is backwards. But that doesn't mean his isn't. And I don't think you'd be getting so upset if you didn't feel the same, deep down." He leaned forward, picking up the cards Beau had dealt him. "You're the white sheep of the Maverick family. You don't really belong there, just like I never belonged where I tried to fit in. And you know you're out of place, don't you?"

Beau gripped the cards in his hands. "Are we going to play poker or discuss my life history and psychological makeup? You are a demented, twisted person! We have nothing in common except that we fought for the South, and even our reasons for that were different!"

"And I suppose you were gallant about the cause," Snakes drawled, throwing Beau's earlier words back at him.

Beau decided to ignore him. Instead he laid out his poker hand.

"You beat me this time," Snakes said.

"I'm tempted to call it quits here," Beau said, "especially if we're not playing for money."

"Well, if you want to, we could play for your two thousand bucks," Snakes said. "I know you must want that back pretty bad."

Beau's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "And you would really put that up as the stakes?"

"Not necessarily," Snakes said. "Do you even have anything of your own to put up?"

". . . No," Beau admitted. He _could_ put up the money Bart had won tonight, in the hopes of keeping hold of it _and_ winning back the two thousand. In other circumstances, he probably would have. But with Bart so bad off that he was undergoing surgery and might not even survive, it didn't seem right.

"Then we either keep playing just for the heck of it, like we've been doing, or we stop."

Beau watched him, still suspicious. "Are you going to keep trying to pry into my mind?"

"I think I've got my point across. You can do what you want now."

"Alright then," Beau said. "We'll play. Not talk."

"Not unless you want to, Pal."

"I'm not your 'pal'," Beau growled.

The game proceeded, quietly, as Snakes had promised. But with only the occasional _bong_ of the large clock for commentary, Beau couldn't help how his thoughts began to wander.

What was happening with Bart? Had the doctor found the problem? What if he needed help?

Surely he would call if he did. But between an honest gambler and a crime boss, he would have rather slim pickings.

What if the doctor would think the surgery was going alright and then there would be a new problem afterwards? What if Bart would still die, even if his condition seemed to improve for a while?

Maybe no matter what the doctor did, it wouldn't matter now. Maybe Bart had already lost too much blood. Beau had tried his best to help Bart before the physician was brought in, but it might not have been good enough.

Would Beau blame himself if Bart died?

. . . Would _Uncle Beau_ blame him?

Maybe Uncle Beau would never say anything outright, but if there was a change in his attitude, Beau would probably suspect blame. And if that happened, Beau really wouldn't feel that he belonged. He wouldn't want to leave if he could offer any comfort to Bret by staying, but he wouldn't feel comfortable around Uncle Beau any longer.

And it would be so horrible without Bart. Beau could scarcely conceive of the thought of Bart not being there; he had always been part of the picture before. Even when Beau had been in England, they had kept up a steady correspondence.

No, Beau could not think that Bart would die. It had to still be possible to save him! The doctor _would_ save him.

None of the Mavericks were particularly religious, but Beau said another prayer in his mind for Bart anyway. He needed all the help he could get.

Snakes said that Beau already knew he didn't belong in the Maverick family. That was probably the sorest spot he could have hit; Beau did feel insecure about his position and about letting the family down. He was, oddly enough, probably more interested in traveling than Bret and Bart were. But he also just couldn't quell the more daring part of his nature that made him do things that Uncle Beau hated, like enlist in the Confederate army.

He had never said so aloud, but he knew he had joined up for adventure more than anything else. Oh, not that he hadn't wanted to fight for the Southern states' rights, but he hadn't entirely agreed with everything they had wanted out of the war. Bret and Bart, still more oddly, had perhaps agreed more, yet had not wanted to enlist. But they had ended up fighting anyway.

"Tell me," he spoke after an indeterminable amount of time, "why did you tell me those things about yourself? In fact, how do I even know that what you told me was true? You could have decided you wanted to present yourself as a more sympathetic figure in my eyes, whether or not you actually deserve sympathy."

"I don't need sympathy or pity," Snakes answered. "I guess if you really want to know if any of it is true, you could go back and talk to the people working the orphanage or look up some of the kids who used to beat me down." He sneered. "I showed them what for, once I had power on my side. They know now they never should've messed with me."

"I'm surprised they aren't all dead," Beau remarked.

Snakes just shrugged. "Depends on what I think would be the best medicine for them. As to why I talked about it at all, I haven't revealed any of my deep, dark secrets. Make no mistake that I have those. But when it comes to how and why I came about my worldview, I'm okay with sharing that." He studied Beau carefully. "One of the things I really wanted to ask you is this: You've seen the bad side of human nature more times than I bet you can count. And it's nearly got you killed more times than either of us can count. Why do you keep on insisting on helping people? What's the point?"

"I can sleep a lot easier at night," Beau quickly replied.

"You're lucky you're not sleeping in a pine box," Snakes said dryly.

"Looking out for your own interests is dangerous as well," Beau pointed out. "That's why gambling is such a potentially deadly profession."

"At least you only have to worry about yourself and not a whole lot of other people too," Snakes grunted. "Better to let one person down than everybody."

"Even if that one person is yourself?" Beau frowned. "That's a strange attitude for someone like you to take. I wouldn't think you'd care if you let anyone other than yourself down."

"Maybe I wouldn't," Snakes said. "I'm just saying. And here's a question. You said the reason you help people is so you can sleep easier. Maybe you were just being sarcastic, or not telling the whole truth, but if you were . . ." He smirked. "Then your reason for helping is selfish. You're not thinking about the other people; you're thinking of you. And somehow I can't think that helping people just to feel good about yourself is gonna get you into Heaven any more than doing nothing will."

"You have an answer for everything, don't you," Beau grumbled. "In this case, I have to admit that you're right. And no, that isn't my only reason. I already told you, I don't like to see innocent people suffer."

"Well, hooray for you," Snakes sneered. "Too bad you weren't around when I was in the orphanage."

"Yes," Beau said, and found he sincerely meant it. "That _is_ too bad. Maybe you wouldn't have grown up such a despicable person."

Snakes looked unaffected. "I guess we'll never know."

They continued their game for a while, in silence again. But as the hours stretched on with no news, Beau found he had had enough. He leaned back, massaging the bridge of his nose. "How long has it been?" he wondered.

Snakes reached into his vest pocket for a gold watch and chain. "A long time."

Beau pushed his chair back from the table and stood, going to the door to look out at the hall. Everything was quiet.

"The doctor would've come if there was any news," Snakes said.

"I know." Beau came back to the table. "The question is, is what's going on in that room good or bad?"

"It won't help to dwell on it." Snakes was serious now.

Beau frowned. Was he just imagining, or was there actually a tinge of kindness in Snakes' voice?

". . . Was there absolutely no one for you?" he asked. "I mean, didn't you have any friends growing up?"

Snakes stayed silent for a moment, finding the cards in his hand very interesting. "Every now and then, yeah, there was someone I kind of liked," he admitted. "But they were always the ones who got adopted quick. Or died."

Beau's frown deepened. "If you were really such a nice person as a child, why didn't anyone want you?"

Snakes shrugged. "Who knows. I heard different things. I was too quiet. I was too weak. I wouldn't be able to help much on a plantation or a farm. I was too . . . outside the acceptable."

"And how was that, if not a troublemaker?"

"I'll give you an example. One time I made friends with this free colored boy who was passing through with his family. We were young and innocent and didn't see anything wrong with it. But you can imagine how well that went over." Snakes leaned back. "I never did see anything wrong with it. So I wasn't really the type who fit into the proper Southern society."

"I see," Beau said in some surprise.

"Even now, I have a lot of colored people in my operation. They're on full salary, not just doing work for peanuts. Some of them are in real positions of power." Snakes smirked. "Maybe it's just my way of rebelling against a society that never wanted me. Maybe I'm telling the outcasts of this country that there's a place where they can be accepted and get a good job." He set the cards down and laced his fingers. "In any case, here's where we come to one of the other big things I wanted to get to. Why don't you join us?"

Beau stared, for a moment not sure he had heard correctly. "You . . . you're asking me to work for you?!" he exclaimed. "After everything I've told you about wanting to help people, not hurt them?"

"See, I think I _am_ helping people, in my own way. I welcome everybody who's willing to work for what has to be done—man, woman, black, white, yellow, red. . . . This country's headed for a new age, and I'm gonna be one of the main ones to get it there."

Beau slumped back. "Maybe so, and maybe on some level that's noble, but you're still getting people into crime. I don't want any part of that!"

"Have it your way," Snakes said. "Just remember I made you the offer. And it's always open if you change your mind."

Beau found himself reeling. This was not what he had expected at all. They should be natural enemies. Instead, Snakes was offering him a _job?_ He wasn't even sure how to react to that.

"Mr. Maverick?"

He looked up with a start. The doctor had arrived in the doorway.

Instantly Beau was on his feet. "What is it, Doctor?" he asked. "How's Bart?"

"Well, he's still alive," the older man sighed, wiping his hands on a towel he had brought with him. "I did what I could and stitched him up. I just don't know if he still has enough blood in him to pull through."

"He's going to live," Beau insisted vehemently. "May I see him now?"

"Stay with him for as long as you want," the doctor nodded. "It's up to him and God now."

Beau hurried to the doorway. "Thank you, Doctor." He rushed past, heading for the bedroom.

Snakes watched him go without protest. When the doctor turned, giving him a questioning look, Snakes ignored him and began to gather the stray cards back into the deck.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Bart was laying silent and still when Beau entered the bedroom. Of course, he hadn't expected different, but that didn't make it easier.

"Well, Cousin Bart," Beau said as he sank into the chair next to the bed, "you've made it through the operation. Now you'll show us all that stubborn Maverick spirit and wake up. And I suppose if I don't get back our two thousand dollars from Mr. Snakes Tolliver, you'll insist on trying your luck at it."

He leaned back, folding his arms and gazing up towards the ceiling. "It's a strange thing. Do you know what just happened in there? Well, unless your spirit is wandering, you wouldn't. Snakes apparently wants me to come work for him. Can you imagine anything so ridiculous? A Maverick working for a crime boss? I could barely put together what to say. Except that I turned him down, of course. But he says the offer will be open to me if I ever change my mind.

"What could he want with a Maverick? He knows that we aren't criminals. Well, most of us, anyway. Any that are have been stopped.

"I wonder if he made such a proposal to Cousin Bret. You wouldn't think so, if they detest each other so much. But then . . . is it just me whom he wants, because I 'don't fit in', as he put it?

"What do you think, Cousin Bart?" Beau wondered, looking to his silent relation. "Do you think I fit in?"

Of course there was no reply.

"Oh, naturally none of us Mavericks really fit in anywhere," Beau mused. "But when you think about it, I don't even fit in with the rest of the family. Snakes was right, at least about that.

"Now, don't look so surprised," Beau said lightly, pretending Bart was reacting. "You know it's true as much as I do. Uncle Beau always was worried about me. He tried everything he could think of to make me fit into his idea of what a man should be. Actually, isn't that odd? We're all unconventional and he encouraged that, but he wanted me to fit with his own, personal unconventionality! My own brand of it wasn't good enough."

Bart stirred slightly, as if in distressed response. But then he quieted again, showing no sign of awakening.

"I'm sorry, Bart. I don't mean to upset you. I shouldn't have said that." Beau sighed. "Snakes really got to me, I suppose. And he was also right that he couldn't have done that if I hadn't already been thinking about it. I know I told you a bit about my feelings on how Uncle Beau treated me, especially after the shooting, but I don't think I've ever really acknowledged how out of place I feel sometimes.

"Really, I'm proud to be a Maverick. I worry a lot about making sure I don't do anything to dishonor the family name. But I'm afraid I will never be what Uncle Beau wants me to be. And I wish he could accept that. And me."

Beau might have continued his soliloquy had the peace not literally been shattered by a bullet crashing through one of the panes of glass. Immediately he leaped out of the chair and pulled out his gun in the same swift motion, ducking under the window as he waited for what would happen next. Thankfully, Bart should be out of the line of fire; the bed was to the side of the window, not directly under or across from it. But Beau was still concerned for him to be there anyway.

"We know what's going on in there, Snakes!" a familiar voice bawled from outside in the dark. "You sure picked the right name for yourself. Instead of helping us, you've got those Maverick boys right in there with you! And the doctor too! And here I thought you wanted to live."

A second voice laughed in a burly, drunken tone. "Unless you've been playing them for saps all along and were still planning to turn them over to us after you won their confidence!"

Beau stiffened. He had never stopped being suspicious of Snakes, but somewhere during their conversation he had started to think that Snakes actually would let them go. What if, since Beau had turned down the job offer, Snakes would instead betray them and keep his original deal with the three angry poker players?

"Where are you now, Snakes?" he hissed under his breath. "Surely you hear this noise."

A second bullet took out a second pane of glass. Beau shielded himself from the particles as they flew in every direction. Then his eyes widened in realization. Bart might not be in danger from the bullets, but glass could so easily fly onto the bed.

Slipping the gun into its holster, Beau stayed low as he went back to the bed. "Sorry, Cousin, but this is for your own good," he muttered, pulling the edges of the blankets up and over Bart's face, while making sure to leave room to breathe.

"Snakes!" That was the third voice. "You yellow-livered weasel. If you're for them, get in there and fight for them! We're going to fill the room full of buckshot!"

"And if you're for us, get out here and tell us!" the first voice chimed in.

"Yes, Snakes, do _something,_" Beau growled under his breath as he went back to the window. He fired two shots and then quickly drew his hand back as the third pane was shot out. It wasn't fast enough to stop two pieces of the flying glass from superficially cutting the back of his hand, and he hissed in pain at the sting.

Snakes was known for doing whatever was best for Snakes at the moment. That was no doubt why he had taken the Mavericks in; he had thought maybe he could convince Beau to join him and that would be more profitable than turning him over to be killed. But now Beau no longer had any value to him and Snakes very likely no longer had any interest in him. Maybe he would turn their enemies over to the sheriff, as promised, but skip out in the process. There was very little likelihood that he would come in here and help Beau fight them off. He was on his own.

The fourth pane was gone now. The cold night air was coming in full-force. Beau scowled. It was blowing in the wrong direction to help him; his bullets would go off-course, while theirs, being carried by the wind, would very likely hit their mark every time.

"You can't be brought up on murder charges if you stop this right now!" Beau called. He was desperate. He had to try reasoning with them before attempting to fire again.

"You killed our friend," the third voice growled. "If anyone's going to be accused of murder, it's you!"

"I wouldn't have shot him if he hadn't stabbed my cousin!" Beau retorted. "I was only trying to keep him from finishing the job!"

"Your cousin cheated!" the first voice roared.

"If there's one thing Bart wouldn't have done, it's cheat," Beau snapped. "Are you going to insist on continuing your attempt to take your revenge on me?"

"Three against one," the second voice hiccupped. "I'd say we've got this one made."

"I'd say you're all going to jail," a fourth voice drawled from the next window over. "Bustin' up my house . . . assaultin' my guests. . . . And you know, since you're the reason these guys had to run from the first town, I'd say that if Bart Maverick dies, you'll all be charged as accessories to murder."

Instantly the three intruders started swearing and cursing. One fired a bullet through the next window. Two more were returned in reply.

Beau fired a shot to help, in grateful disbelief. Snakes had come through.

xxxx

It wasn't long before the doctor returned; he had gone out the back way to find the sheriff and two deputies. But within those few minutes, one man had been killed thanks to a shotgun Snakes had in the house and a second had been wounded.

Snakes strolled over to the doorway of the bedroom once he was sure the law had things under control. "How did you make out in here?" he asked.

Beau slowly got up from the floor, replacing the gun in its holster. "A lot better than I likely would have if you hadn't come," he said. Carefully he moved the blankets away from Bart's face, allowing any glass particles to crash to the floor. "I really thought you were leaving us."

"Yeah, well . . ." Snakes leaned in the doorway and lit a cigar. "I considered it. Pretty strongly, actually. When I heard the first couple of shots, I ran for the back way to catch a ride to town on the doctor's carriage."

Beau regarded him in surprise. "What stopped you?"

"It wasn't the doctor, if that's what you're thinking," Snakes said. "Actually, he encouraged me to come and leave you two behind."

Beau made a face. "So much for the doctor's main concern being the ill and wounded."

"I said I had the town in my pocket. Part of that is them looking out for my welfare."

"You didn't answer as to what _did_ make you come back," Beau reminded him.

"I really figured you could get out of this mess, just like you've got out of so many other messes before." Snakes took the cigar between his fingers and studied it. "But then I thought about your cousin, and how he might not get out of this mess alive. Even Mavericks aren't infallible. So you might not make it out either. And I thought . . . well, it would be a shame if the white sheep of the Maverick family ended up dying in my house. I have a certain respect for the whole family, but you, daring to be different in a family that's already pretty different . . ." He smirked. "I respect that even more. It's easier to be different around strangers than around people you know. You've gotta be pretty happy with yourself as you are to not try to fit in with the rest of them."

Beau rocked back. "I'm grateful," he said honestly. "You could have died yourself by coming back."

"Eh . . . I tried to make sure I wouldn't." Snakes pushed away from the doorframe. "Kept out of sight and all that."

"You still could have taken a stray bullet, especially if one had torn through the wall where you were," Beau said.

"You've got a point there," Snakes conceded.

"And I'm sure you thought about that," Beau said.

Snakes didn't confirm or deny that. "You'd better try to get some rest," he said gruffly instead. "Your cousin will probably sleep through the night."

"Perhaps," Beau said. "But I'd rather stay in here with him. Is there a cot that could be brought in?"

"Yeah," Snakes said, "there's probably something like that around somewhere." He turned to go. "I'll see about it." But then he paused. "Are you _sure_ either of you should spend the night in _this_ room?"

Beau blinked, suddenly becoming aware again of the breeze blowing in through the liberated window. ". . . Oh." He ran a hand through his hair. "I don't like the thought of moving Bart again, so soon after the surgery, but that draft can't be good for him, either."

"Especially since it might rain again." Snakes put the cigar back in his mouth. "Okay, here's what we'll do. I'll go get the cot. We'll put him on it and carry him out of this room and into a different one. Then you can use the cot."

"Thank you," Beau said in relief.

"Just . . . don't let this get around," Snakes grunted. "It's not good for business."

"To let the townspeople know the crime boss has a heart?" Beau smirked a bit. "I understand. We Mavericks don't tend to like that to get around about us, either."

Snakes actually seemed to smile a bit as he walked out of the room.

Beau went over and sat in the chair while he waited. "I suppose I should be trying to break his control over this town and getting our two thousand dollars back," he mused. "But you know something, Cousin Bart? I don't think I have the heart any longer." He leaned back, rubbing his knee. "We _did_ make a fair deal, and he _did_ come through with his part of it. And Uncle Beau _does_ believe in letting fair deals stand."

Bart stirred, bringing his hand out from under the covers. "Beau . . . what's with all the cannons going off outside?" he mumbled. "I thought the war was over."

Beau started and looked over, overjoyed to see that Bart was awake, even somewhat. "The War Between the States, yes," he laughed. Sobering, he added, "And hopefully our own personal war as well.

"Bart, how are you feeling?" He wasn't sure Bart was aware enough to process the question, but it had to be asked anyway.

"I . . ." Bart made a face as he tried to sort out the answer. "I could be better. My side still feels like it's on fire."

"I'll see if the doctor has anything he can give you for that," Beau said.

"Where are we, anyway?" Bart squinted up at the ceiling and then looked down at the bed.

"Someone took us in," Beau said, not sure how much to say at this point.

Snakes returned at that moment with the cot. He set it down next to the bed and straightened, looking to Bart—who was looking back at him in confusion.

"Well, so you're finally awake, eh?" Snakes greeted. "We're going to lift you out of here on this thing." He indicated the cot. "That way, you won't have to be jostled around as much."

"Thanks," Bart said slowly. "But . . . who are you?"

"Someone you probably won't even remember when you're feeling better." Snakes threw back the covers. "Ready?"

Beau nodded, and together, he and Snakes carefully lifted Bart onto the cot. Bart grimaced at the movement, keeping a hand over his side as they raised the cot.

"I'll walk backwards," Snakes decided. "Since I know the layout of the house better."

"That's fine," Beau said.

"Watch out that you don't scrape your hands on the doorframe," Snakes cautioned. "Put them under the top of the cot instead of keeping them on the sides."

"I was thinking of that," Beau replied.

Snakes smirked. "I wasn't sure how much experience you Mavericks have had with lifting things."

"Hmm. That's a good point," Beau conceded.

Bart listened to the back and forth between them, still half-awake and confused. "Where are we going?" he asked. "This room seems nice enough."

"It was a lot nicer before the window was blown out," Beau said. "We're just moving to a less drafty room in the house."

Bart tried to relax while being carried out of the room on the cot. "Well, this is service," he mused.

"Just don't expect it to continue when you're well, dear cousin," Beau said.

"Just for now is fine," Bart said.

He eyed the new room they were entering in amazement. "This house must be some kind of a mansion," he declared, staring at the exquisitely carved furniture and the expensive comforter on the bed.

"You could say that," Snakes said. "I got it at a real bargain price."

"Who would want to sell this place cheap?" Bart couldn't help wondering.

"It was because of the war," Snakes said, setting down his end of the cot next to the bed. Beau followed suit. "Wounded soldiers from both sides were brought here and tended to. After the war was over, the owner kept being uneasy remembering all the wounded and claiming she saw the ghosts of the ones who died here walking the halls." He smirked, clearly showing how much stock he put in _that._

"Don't be too sure she didn't," Beau said, uneasy himself as he remembered his out-of-body experience after being shot. He turned back the comforter.

"Well, whatever. So she wanted to sell the place. I was looking for something in the area and I snapped it up." Again Snakes moved to lift Bart. With Beau's help, they moved him onto the new bed as gently as they could.

"How's that, Cousin Bart?" Beau asked.

"Good," Bart said through gritted teeth.

"I'll go find the doctor now," Beau promised. As he headed for the door, he looked back and asked, "Oh, what are you going to do about the broken window?"

"I'm going to make those enemies of yours pay for it," Snakes declared.

Beau smirked. "As well they should."

He ducked out of the room, leaving Bart with Snakes.

It was strange, how only a few hours ago he would have hated to do such a thing. Now, he felt that it was alright and Bart would be safe.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes: Beau is definitely a mystery and a puzzle to try to figure out. Since he canonically has been shown to be bold and daring and it's been observed about him in canon that he's a travel enthusiast and free spirit, I chose to have him react to Snakes' plans the way he does here. Whether that would be accurate to the character or not, I couldn't say. We know so little about him compared to the other two that it seems a possibility, at least.**

**Chapter Five**

Bart grimaced at the flaring pain in his side. Hopefully Beau would be back soon, and hopefully he would have a way to make the fire stop. Meanwhile, to try to get his mind on something else, Bart decided to attempt talking to the character Beau had left him with. There were several things he wanted to know.

"You're Snakes Tolliver, aren't you?" he tried at first.

That brought a smirk. "You recognize me?"

"Your scar," Bart replied. "I don't think there's a gambler in the country who hasn't heard of the crooked poker player with the snake-shaped scar on his cheek."

"Crooked, eh?" Snakes came closer to the bed. "A lot of people have said that, but no one's ever been able to prove it."

"Maybe when I'm feeling better, I'll take up that challenge," Bart said. "Why did you help us? From what I've heard, you're not the type to help out of the goodness of your heart."

"Your cousin gave me two thousand dollars to help you," Snakes replied matter-of-factly.

Bart cringed. "What? Oh _no. . . ._" He fumbled to pull back his coat, even though he was sure he knew what he would see. Or would _not_ see.

Snakes looked amused. "You should be grateful he did that," he said. "Anyway, he gave up his money too."

"Would you have really not helped us if you hadn't been paid?" Bart frowned.

Snakes paused. "You know that's a loaded question to ask someone like me."

"Yeah, I guess it is," Bart grumbled. "Anyway, I'm sure I know the answer."

"Then there's no sense bothering to talk about it," Snakes said. "But I _will_ say I was just plain interested by your and your cousin turning up. I tried to offer him a position with me."

"You're kidding," Bart said in disbelief.

"I'm serious. But don't worry, he didn't accept. And I suppose that in the end, he wouldn't fit into a criminal organization any better than he fits with you people."

Bart stiffened. "What are you talking about? Beau is a Maverick. Of course he fits with us!"

Snakes' lips curled into a smirk. "Maybe you should ask him if he feels the same way."

"You're not going to have me believe that he would confide in you, even if he does feel out of place," Bart snarled. He slumped back with a wince. He was probably talking too much.

"Oh, you're right—he was defending the family up and down, especially that father of yours." Snakes folded his arms. "But what I was saying was getting to him. I know that and he knows that."

Bart looked away. He knew Beau had been hurt by things that Bret and Bart's father had said and done; Beau had finally admitted that when recovering from being shot. Maybe it wasn't such a jump from that to feeling like he didn't belong at all.

"You know I'm right, don't you?" Snakes said. "Maybe when you're feeling better, you should have a talk with him."

"Maybe I should," Bart admitted, keeping his tone guarded. He turned back, staring Snakes in the eyes. "But why are you so worried about how Beau feels?"

Snakes was undaunted by the eye contact. "I like your cousin, Mr. Maverick," he said, still matter-of-fact. "I think he's crazy to be so intent on caring for other people that he puts himself in danger time and again, but he's genuine and he's not afraid to be himself, even when his whole family acts different than he does. I have to respect that."

"Well, then I guess I'm grateful," Bart said. "And I appreciate you looking out for us . . . even though I wish you didn't have a thousand of my dollars in your wallet."

Snakes shrugged. "All's fair in love and war, as they say. And boy, were you two caught in the middle of a war."

Suddenly putting something together, Bart stared. "Wait a minute. The broken window! Did those people who were after us track us here?"

"You could say that. But you don't have to worry now; they won't bother you again."

"At least that's something," Bart sighed.

"I'll say it's something!" Snakes shot back. "They started shooting up my house and could have shot up your cousin _and_ you _and_ me!"

"I didn't mean that as flippant as it sounded," Bart apologized.

"Eh. I know the high value your family places on your money. And I can't say I don't agree with that, either. Money is pretty important in the world."

"It certainly is," Bart said, wincing again.

It was then that Beau came back into the room with the doctor in tow. "Here he is, Cousin Bart," Beau announced. "I can't say I'm particularly thrilled with having him continue to treat you, after he was willing to leave both of us to the mercy of those three outside, but I suppose we don't have any other choice. There isn't another physician for miles."

The doctor cleared his throat, definitely looking uncomfortable, even embarrassed. "I was going to come back as soon as I brought the sheriff," he said. "If there had been anyone else who could have gone, I would have stayed."

"If that were true, wouldn't you have told Snakes to go to town while you remained behind?" Beau said. "I heard that you wanted Snakes to leave with you, not instead of you."

The doctor flushed, more uncomfortable than ever. He looked down, digging into his medical bag.

"Nevermind all that," Snakes said. "It's over and done with. And he'll help your cousin just as good as he did before the attack. He has no reason not to, as long as he's obeying me."

"It's good to know that he would apparent poison me if that was your instruction instead," Bart commented sarcastically.

The physician continued to pointedly ignore the conversation, instead pouring a spoonful of some substance onto a spoon. "Alright, take this," he said, holding it to Bart's lips.

Grimacing, Bart swallowed it and leaned into the pillows. "I swear I'll never get used to that taste."

The doctor gave him a sharp look. "Just how many times have you needed laudanum?"

"You don't want to know," Bart proclaimed.

Shaking his head, the doctor closed his bag and headed for the door. "You should sleep easy now," he said. "In the future, _try_ to avoid incidents that will result in you getting stabbed."

"I'd love to," Bart mumbled. "But somehow I don't think giving up poker would separate me from the danger."

"No, I'm afraid all of us find danger wherever we go and no matter what we do," Beau remarked. "I'll have to tell you some of my misadventures in England sometime."

Bart squinted in surprise as he turned to look at Beau. "You didn't mention you had trouble in England," he said. "You made it sound like it was a breeze in your letters."

"Well . . ." Beau shrugged. "I managed to get out of trouble on my own. I pretty much had to; I couldn't risk bothering you or Cousin Bret about it. Even if you could have made it over the ocean in time, I was afraid Uncle Beau would be angry with you for going to my aid. 'Let him learn his lesson on his own', I could imagine him saying. 'It will be good for him and maybe scare the bravery out of him.'"

"I guess he might have," Bart admitted. "If he'd known. Maybe he wouldn't have. We were already traveling by the time he made you leave. And he didn't know every place we were traveling to."

"True. But anyway, once all was well again, I saw no sense in making you or Cousin Bret worry. So I didn't bring up such matters in my letters." Suddenly realizing the conversation was getting rather private, Beau turned and found himself surprised that he and Bart were alone. Snakes and the doctor had quietly slipped out.

Bart was noticing the same thing. "Beau . . ." He lowered his voice as he looked at his cousin in all seriousness. "That's what you've almost always done, isn't it? Not bringing up things that might make us worry, I mean. Such as feeling you don't belong?"

Beau stiffened, guilty and caught. "You heard me? I really thought you were still unconscious."

"I don't think I heard you," Bart frowned. "You were telling it to me?"

"I was just using you as a sounding board to get out some of the thoughts in my head." Beau started to pace, not facing Bart now. "I didn't really think you'd hear me. I'm not sure I wanted you to. Although . . . maybe I _did_ want that, just a little."

"Well, Snakes brought up the subject a few minutes ago," Bart said. "And I guess I was blind or stupid or something, but I never thought you felt like that until he mentioned it. Then it started making sense." Bart watched Beau pace, too weak to try to get up or reach for him to pull him back.

Beau sighed in resignation. "Then I suppose you may as well know it's true," he said, finally turning back. "I never wanted to say it, but . . . it was hard to feel like I belonged when Uncle Beau kept pounding it into me that I wasn't like the rest of the family."

"That was never how he meant it," Bart said sadly. "But sometimes I guess it could have come off that way."

"I know he was worried about me doing something foolish and getting myself killed." Beau sank down on the edge of the cot. "Usually I just took it all in stride. I knew I wasn't supposed to go against him and I didn't really want to; I wanted to show him the proper respect. But sometimes I just wished I could scream at him that he couldn't change me so easily, that I was a free spirit just like the rest of the family . . . that I just showed it differently and likely always would. That I wished he . . ." He stared at the floor. "That he would just love me for what I was and not what he wanted me to be."

Bart reached for him now, laying a hand on Beau's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Beau," he said softly.

Beau smiled, faintly. "I know he'll never change, and I can't expect that of him any more than he should with me. Usually I think I've accepted that. But every now and then, something happens that makes me realize I haven't accepted it and maybe never fully will. Something like having him yell at me for getting shot protecting you, or . . ."

"Or having someone else see what I couldn't." Bart frowned. "Beau . . . I know Snakes said you turned his offer down, but . . . did you really want to?"

Beau looked up with a start. "I could never be a criminal, Bart. You know that."

"What if Snakes ran a legitimate business?" Bart persisted. "Would you join him then?"

Beau paused. "I've wondered that myself. It would certainly be one more thing that would make Uncle Beau furious at me, wouldn't it? Actually doing regular work?" He chuckled a bit. "Maybe that would be fitting for the white sheep of the family. I don't really think it would be for me unless a great deal of traveling was involved, but then again, I believe that _would_ be the case since Snakes and his people are part of the riverboat circuit."

He sobered. "Ah, Bart . . . the things Snakes told me there at the end, about being part of a new world that would accept anyone who was willing to work, no matter their station in life or their gender or race. . . . It sounded fantastic, exciting . . . worthwhile." He stared off into space before abruptly coming back and looking to his amazed cousin. "I know England still has its problems. Heaven knows every country does. But they abolished slavery long before we did here in the States. When I was over there, in some places I saw incredible things. White and colored people working together, being friendly, not afraid to be seen together.

"I know there are places here where that's the case now as well. But wouldn't it be wonderful if it were that way everywhere? If no one had to feel left out?"

Bart slowly shook his head. "It makes me wonder why you ever fought for the South."

"Loyalty, I suppose. But mostly the desire for adventure." Beau leaned forward, his hands on his knees. "Yes, Cousin Bart, if Snakes were a legitimate businessman without any forays into crime, I believe I would be sorely tempted to join his workforce. That world he was talking about . . . that would be something worthwhile to have a hand in creating."

"It would sure be dangerous," Bart said, weakly shaking his head as he sank deeper into the bed. He tried and failed to hold back a yawn. The laudanum was working more now; the pain had already eased and now he was growing drowsy. Sleep sounded so wonderful. . . .

"But you know me, Cousin Bart," Beau smiled. "Danger is good for my soul." He laid back on the cot, seeing that Bart would not be able to stay awake much longer and not wanting to keep him awake longer than he could manage.

Bart sighed. "It sure seems to be."

"However, not danger to you or Cousin Bret. I can't stand that. Nor do I particularly enjoy being hurt myself."

Bart chuckled under his breath. "Unfortunately, that's a consequence of danger a lot of times."

"As we both found out anew tonight." Remembering the lamp, Beau rose again to turn it down. "Goodnight, Cousin Bart." He laid down again, this time bringing a spare quilt from the room with him.

Bart looked down at him. "Goodnight, Cousin Beau." He settled into the bed, letting the wonder of sleep slowly claim him while Beau's words swirled through his mind.

Outside the room, Snakes stepped away from the door. The doctor frowned, watching him reprovingly.

"Don't you look at me like that." Snakes' voice was cold and harsh. "After the way you ran out on them, you have no right to pull a high and mighty act with me." He turned away. "Anyway, I just wanted to know if they would talk about me and what I said. And they did." He smirked. "I made an impression on Beau Maverick. I knew I would."

"Do you think he ever will come to you for a job?" the doctor asked.

"Nah. He's too good. But I planted a seed there. And maybe for a time, at least, he won't bother my operations."

"He still thinks of you as a criminal," the doctor said doubtfully.

"We both know I _am_ a criminal," Snakes replied. "And thanks to Lucrece Posey, I'm living pretty high on the hog. I've never had it so good." He sneered. "Someday, I'm gonna be top dog over everything."

"You shouldn't talk like that!" the doctor exclaimed. "If Miss Posey ever found out . . ."

"She won't, though, will she?" Snakes' voice had lowered again, dark and dangerous. "She has no reason to. I won't tell her. And I'm sure you won't."

The physician averted his gaze. "N-No, of course not."

Snakes' next words were lighter again. "You know, though, I kind of regret that Beau won't fall in with me. Not just because I could use him, but because he's missing out. I like to see the underdogs get what they deserve." He started up the hall. "But a free spirit has to follow his heart. So I wish him well in whatever he does. As long as that isn't toppling my empire. Since I've helped him and his cousin, I think he'll give me a free pass today. He's too honorable not to."

"Is that why you took them in?" the doctor asked as he followed.

"Does a guy ever have just one reason why he does anything?" Snakes answered cryptically. "Let me keep my secrets. You don't need to know."

"Of course, Sir," the doctor said quietly.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

The next several days were difficult for a while, as Beau struggled to tend to Bart amidst legitimate complaints of pain and concerns such as the wound bleeding through the stitches. It was almost impossible for Bart to move in order to allow for the changing of bandages. Many attempts at trying resulted in Bart exclaiming with words his father would not be proud of. But Beau held his tongue and his patience as he continued to try to help Bart on the road to a full recovery.

"Naturally you're in pain," he said at one point. "What would you expect after taking such a harsh blow?"

"I just wish I didn't have to expect it quite this much," Bart said through gritted teeth.

"It won't be forever," Beau said sympathetically, remembering his own anguish during his recovery from being shot.

"Sometimes it feels like it might as well be," Bart sputtered.

As Bart began to make noticeable improvements, Beau was delighted and Bart grew anxious for them to be on their way. But since he really did still need rest and recuperation, Snakes prevailed upon them to linger.

"If you're just going somewhere else to rest some more, why not keep resting here?" he pointed out.

"He does make a logical point," Beau remarked.

Bart looked from one to the other. "Maybe so, but are you two sure you're not in a conspiracy here? Or you, anyway." He looked to Snakes. "Maybe you're still hoping to convince Beau to work for you."

Snakes just shrugged. "I can't deny I'm still thinking it would be nice, but I can tell his mind is made up. I'm just trying to be practical for your sake."

"Of course he is," Beau nodded.

And Bart leaned back into the pillows, not fully convinced. "If you say so," he said doubtfully.

Everyone was surprised when one evening shortly afterwards, there came a sharp knock at the door and Snakes admitted a third Maverick into the house.

"I wondered if you'd be showing up," Snakes said coolly, his dislike obvious.

"Well, when I heard my brother had been hurt and he and Cousin Beau had to rely on the likes of you for help, I decided I'd better get on down here and see if Brother Bart was worse off now than he'd been in the first place," Bret drawled as he stepped into the entryway.

"He's mending," Snakes grunted, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "Down that way."

"Thank you," Bret said with a touch to the brim of his hat. "And I trust you haven't managed to corrupt either of your guests?"

"You know the Mavericks are incorruptible," Snakes sneered.

"I do, but it's always good to hear it again," Bret smiled.

Hearing the voices, Bart tried to push himself into more of a sitting position on the bed. But he cringed, soon abandoning the effort.

"Don't try to make him think you're not as bad off as you are," Beau scolded.

Bart looked to him. "You didn't send for him and get him all worried, did you?"

"No, but I would have if you hadn't rallied so quickly," Beau retorted.

Puzzled, Bart leaned back into the pillow. "How did he even find out about us?"

"Why, you know news about those gambling Mavericks travels fast and far," Bret said as he suddenly appeared in the doorway. "Especially in connection with a character like Snakes Tolliver."

"Hello, Brother Bret," Bart smiled. "You really didn't need to come all the way down here, you know. I'll be out of here in no time."

"And probably much too soon," Bret said.

"Snakes and I convinced him to stay on a while longer," Beau said. "Hello, Cousin Bret."

Bret returned the greetings and drew up a chair on the other side of the bed. "Now give it to me straight—how bad off are you?" He looked at Bart as though he could determine the answer with a stare.

"It's hardly more than a scratch," Bart said.

"If it was, we wouldn't be here," Beau retorted. Looking to Bret, he said, "Cousin Bart was badly stabbed and lost a great deal of blood. He was bleeding internally as well. The town doctor had to perform surgery the first night we were here." He clenched a fist. "We could have lost him. That isn't an exaggeration."

"No, I'm sure it isn't." Bret frowned, looking Bart over. "You've really been busy."

Bart sighed in resignation, deciding there was no use in keeping up the charade. "Alright, so I haven't been at the top of my game. But thanks to Beau, I'm going to be fine."

"Well, I'm glad he was there." Bret looked to Beau. "Whatever you did that got him here must have been some quick thinking."

"I don't know how quick it was," Beau replied. "_Desperate_ would be a better word."

Bret nodded, grimly. ". . . So how's Snakes been treating you?" he wondered, deciding to change the subject to something lighter.

"Very hospitably," Bart said. "After he got hold of two thousand Maverick dollars, of course. Which dear cousin Beau seems to have no intention of getting back." He slowly turned to Beau with an accusatory look.

"Really now," Bret said. "How did he come by that?"

"I offered it to him as a last resort when he was going to send me to the wolves, as it were," Beau said. "He was quite receptive."

"Oh, I'm sure he was," Bret said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Snakes always has quite a taste for other people's money."

"I really was planning to find a way to get it back," Beau said, "especially when I was convinced that Snakes was going to betray us the first chance he had. When he came through for us in more than one dire moment, I decided maybe it would only be fair to let him keep the money."

"I suppose you're right," Bret conceded. "Pappy would have agreed with you."

"Although Pappy probably would have advocated not giving Snakes any money to begin with," Bart mused.

Beau flinched. "It was an emergency," he said. "Surely even Uncle Beau wouldn't have refused to do it with that as the case."

"He might have tried to play a game with Snakes with the money as the stakes," Bret said.

"In a life-and-death situation? I would hope not!"

Realizing that this was a touchy subject for Beau, Bret backed down. "Well, maybe not then," he said.

"I wouldn't think so," Beau said, clearly still ruffled.

Bret frowned. Even though he wasn't as close to Beau as Bart was, he was quite sure there was more going on here than what was on the surface. "What is it, Beau?" he wanted to know. "I can tell something's wrong. And I know trying to get help for Cousin Bart must've been stressful, but there's more to it than that, isn't there?"

Beau sighed. "Yes," he admitted. "But don't worry about me, really." He tried to smile. "I'll be alright."

Bart shot Bret a silent look. They would talk about this later, when Beau wasn't around. He would no doubt leave at some point to allow the brothers some time alone.

Picking up on the message, Bret let the subject drop.

Relieved, Beau said, "So, Snakes told me the two of you have met several times."

"That's right," Bret said grandly. "He's quite the character, to say the least."

"Your mutual dislike of each other was very obvious at the door," Beau commented.

"Snakes isn't one of my favorite people. Still . . ." Bret lowered his voice. "I guess in some way, I'm not surprised he helped you. Whenever we've run into each other, I've seen he still has goodness in him. Somewhere."

"Really?" Bart raised an eyebrow.

Bret nodded. "He tries to bury it because he thinks being good only gets you hurt. I'm not even sure he realizes himself that he's not all bad."

"That's rather sad, actually," Beau said.

"It kind of is, but what can you do?" Bret said. "Basically, deep down he's still just a scared kid drunk on power. Anyway, I guess there's worse people you could've ended up with."

"He told me you've toppled his control over several towns," Beau remarked.

Bret nodded. "I've done that. Also every time we've run into each other, he's been pulling some new scheme or bilking a bunch of innocent people or something else that I just can't abide."

"I see." Beau sighed. "I suppose I really should see about breaking his control over this town before we go, but somehow it just doesn't seem a very fair way to pay him back after all that he's done for Cousin Bart."

"No, I guess it doesn't," Bret mused. He sighed, folding his arms. "I could have got him arrested once. I chose not to and broke his control over a town instead. I'm not sure he was grateful for the alternative."

"Choosing between a jail cell or losing a town and all the money and power that went with it?" Bart chuckled. "That's a rock and a hard place. I can see why he hates you so much."

"And yet he still saved my life," Bret said.

"Maybe just because it wouldn't have been a death fitting for someone who'd humiliated him that much?" Bart quipped.

"I think it would've been pretty fitting," Bret said. "All of his men were firing on me."

"What on Earth made him order them to stop?" Beau wondered, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, that would be an awfully long story, because if I told you that, I'd have to tell you a whole bunch of other things or it wouldn't make sense," Bret smiled. "Maybe I'll tell it to you from the beginning sometime."

"And we'd both like to hear it from the beginning sometime. Wouldn't we, Cousin Beau?" Bart looked to the fair-haired Maverick, who nodded.

"Oh yes. And sooner rather than later."

"Maybe when we leave here," Bret said. "I'm not sure Snakes would let me live to tell it."

"Well, in any case, I believe I should let the two of you visit for a while," Beau said. "Perhaps I should talk to Snakes about whether he's willing to put up another Maverick for a day or two."

"It might sound better coming from you than me," Bret agreed. "Since he doesn't hold anything against you. But I could just stay at the hotel in town."

"Nonsense. I'm sure he'll agree." Beau got up. "I'll ask him right now."

Bret turned to Bart the moment Beau left the room. "Okay, so what is this with Beau?" he demanded. "I thought he was feeling better about Pappy again."

Bart exhaled in frustration. "He was, or at least, I _thought_ he was. Until Snakes got his fangs in him."

Bret rocked back. "What are you talking about?"

"Snakes played on Beau's insecurities and tried to convince him that as a fellow outcast, he should work for Snakes." Bart couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"Oh come on," Bret objected. "You're not telling me Beau—a good, true-blue Maverick—would fall for that!"

"He turned Snakes down cold," Bart said. "But he told me Snakes had really got to him and dug up a lot of feelings he's had for a while. Bret, he really feels like he doesn't belong!"

"Well, none of us really _belong_, the way the world thinks of belonging," Bret said.

"No, Bret. He feels like he doesn't belong in the family!" Bart slumped back into the pillows. "He was telling me how Pappy was always worried about him being different from the other Mavericks and how bad he felt that Pappy couldn't just accept him for what he was."

Bret hadn't expected that. He slowly sank back against the chair, frowning, deep in thought. "Well, I guess there's not even much we can do about that," he said. "Pappy's still worried about Beau and he probably always will be."

"We could try to talk to Pappy about Beau's feelings," Bart said carefully.

Bret stared at him. "Are you serious?"

"I know it sounds like kind of a scary idea, but maybe if he just realized how Beau feels . . ."

Bret got up and started to pace. "_Scary _doesn't even begin to describe what it sounds like! I'm not even sure it would help things. It could make it worse! Pappy could take it all wrong and decide to step up his efforts to get Beau to be like the rest of us."

"Or he could realize that the things he's tried to do haven't worked and have only alienated Beau all the more," Bart said quietly. "We know Pappy cares about Beau. I think he'd feel terrible to know that not only did he fail to cure Beau of his adventurous spirit, it backfired so badly that Beau feels like an outcast in his own family."

Bret stopped pacing. "Maybe," he said slowly. "But what if he started screaming at Beau for being a dad-blamed fool? Pappy's not known for being terribly sensitive, even if in some cases he should be. You know that even though he was worried as heck when he got the news about Beau being shot, his reaction was to come rake Beau over the coals for doing something dangerous."

"I know," Bart sighed. "And I guess it wouldn't really solve the problem for Pappy to tell Beau that of course he belongs. Not unless Beau could get the courage to tell him that he wants to be accepted and not changed."

"Maybe he would," Bret mused. "After all, Beau finally snapped and yelled when Pappy was chewing him out over the shooting.

"Oh, I don't know, though!" Bret resumed pacing. "Maybe nothing can really fix this and we'd be meddling where we shouldn't be, to get involved in the problems between Beau and Pappy."

"I don't think so," Bart said. "It was only because we gave Pappy a talking-to about the way he treated Beau about the shooting that he cooled down and said something nicer before he left."

Bret sighed. "Maybe you're right."

"I know I don't want Beau to be around Snakes for any longer than is absolutely necessary," Bart said. "Snakes is a bad influence. Who knows what will happen the longer they associate."

"You don't really think Beau would end up joining him," Bret exclaimed in disbelief.

"I hope not," Bart said. "But the last thing he needs is for someone to keep feeding the feelings he already has of being out of place. Snakes is becoming a kindred spirit to him. You saw how convinced he was that Snakes would let you stay. He's starting to think he knows how Snakes thinks. Maybe he's even starting to think Snakes isn't as bad as he is."

Bret shrugged. "Well, on that, maybe he's right. But you've got a point. I think I'd better have a talk with Snakes myself."

xxxx

Snakes looked up from a game of solitaire when Beau appeared in the doorway. "You're not staying to visit with your cousins?" he asked.

"Oh . . . I thought they should have some time together without me there," Beau said lightly. "They're brothers, after all. They have a bond that nothing else can really penetrate."

"Yeah?" Snakes gestured to the chairs at the table. "Sit down and we'll talk about it."

Beau obeyed, uncomfortable as he looked at their strange benefactor. "Is it alright if Cousin Bret stays here?" he blurted. "I know you don't like him, but . . ."

"Sure, it's fine," Snakes interrupted impatiently.

"Thank you," Beau said. "That was really all I came to ask." But he lingered, watching Snakes continue his game.

"Maybe it was all you came to ask," Snakes said at last, "but it's not all you wanted. Is it?"

"No," Beau admitted quietly.

"Some company, maybe?" Snakes laid the final card and looked up at his guest.

"That would be nice," Beau said.

Snakes smiled. "Well, then, I think we can manage that."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Beau wasn't sure how long he and Snakes had just been sitting peacefully when Bret suddenly strolled into the room.

"Well, isn't this cozy," he remarked. "If you don't mind, Beau, I'd like to do some visiting with Snakes now. We've got a lot to catch up on."

"Oh. Of course." Beau stood. "How's Bart?"

"He's dozing a bit. I guess my showing up here wore him out." Bret took a chair next to Snakes, while Snakes eyed him in disapproval.

"I'm sure Bart was happy to see you," Beau said.

"I'm sure he was too," Bret smiled. "Too much excitement for him."

Beau shook his head in amusement. "Alright, I'll leave you two to talk now."

"Sure," Snakes said with a wave, still regarding Bret in suspicion. "You do that."

Bret waited until Beau was out of the room before leaning forward and resting his arm on the table. "Alright, now I've got a little request to make of you," he said.

"After all the things you've done to me, I don't think you've got a right to make a request," Snakes sneered.

Ignoring him, Bret leaned in farther. "Stay away from my family." His tone was mild enough, yet there was a definite sense of danger in his words.

Snakes leaned back. "They're adults. And this is my house. How do you expect me to stay away from them while they're here?"

"I'm sure you've got things to do, places to go. Bart and I don't like what you're doing to Beau." Bret kept watching him, his voice calm and even, but still with that sense of danger underneath.

"I'm not doing anything to Beau." Anger flashed in Snakes' eyes. "I offered him a job, that's all. He turned me down."

"But you're still confusing him, making him think he doesn't belong in his own family. And as someone who has always welcomed Beau into our family, well, I kind of resent that."

"Those thoughts are his own," Snakes spat. "He had them long before we ever met. Maybe if you don't like what's going on with your cousin, you shouldn't look too far from home to find out _why_ it's going on."

"If I were a fighting man, I'd probably punch your lights out for saying that," Bret remarked. He leaned back, taking out a cigar.

"Yeah, that's your excuse," Snakes said. "But you know I'm right. Your daddy's the one who made him feel like he doesn't belong. Maybe you and your brother don't always help, either, being as thick as you are."

Bret stiffened. "Beau's always been one of us."

"But he's a cousin, not a brother. Brothers are gonna have a bond like nobody else does, especially if the cousin has always felt like he's on the outside looking in."

Bret slowly lit the cigar, trying to hide the fact that his hands were shaking. He was troubled. Scowling, he shook out the match and wouldn't meet Snakes' gaze. This character really knew how to psych people out. It was no wonder Beau had fallen under his spell. "Is that the kind of stuff you've been telling him?"

Snakes started to smirk. "Maybe you should ask him that."

Bret sat up straight now, disturbed and angry. "What is it you're trying to do, anyway?" he demanded. "Are you jealous of Beau because he has something you don't—a good family? Are you trying to break us all up?"

"I don't think his situation is all that great," Snakes said. "In fact, some of it downright makes me mad, especially the way your father treats him. I think _that's_ pretty criminal. But I'm not trying to split you all up. I just wanted Beau to work for me. When he wouldn't, I accepted that. I've just been around as a listening ear. Beau came to me just now; I didn't go to him."

"Yeah, because you've set yourself up as some kind of pal in his eyes," Bret said.

"He told me I wasn't his pal," Snakes grinned. "And if you don't like that Beau is kind of gravitating to me now, maybe you should ask yourself if you're worried . . . or jealous."

"_Jealous?!"_ Bret gasped, coughing on the cigar smoke. He took the object out of his mouth, continuing to choke until he was under control. "_**Jealous?!**_ Why, that's the most cock-eyed, idiotic, stupid idea you could have come up with!"

"Okay, so maybe you _are_ worried," Snakes said. "But did you tell _him_ that?"

"No," Bret admitted. "But Bart has, pretty much."

"Look." Snakes was serious now, sitting up straight in the chair and looking at Bret with unflinching eyes. "You're all going to be gone soon enough and I doubt I'll ever see any of you again after that. Beau won't join up with me, so does it really matter that much if he likes me in spite of what I do?"

"It matters if liking you is just going to get him hurt," Bret declared. "Pappy would never deliberately do anything to harm Beau unless he thought it was for Beau's own good. But you might do it if you thought it was for _your_ own good."

"Oh, so finally we're getting to the gist of things," Snakes said. "You think I might betray him."

"You can't blame me for wondering if you would," Bret said.

"I'll tell you what I told your brother." Snakes looked Bret firmly in the eyes. "I like Beau. I'll admit I still think he's crazy to always put himself on the line for people he doesn't even know. Your whole family is crazy like that. But Beau's sharp as a whip, clever, cunning, and whether you like it or not, he feels like an outsider. I don't want to hurt him. I could have gone off and just let him and Bart suffer when those idiots attacked the house, but I didn't."

"And why do you think you didn't?" Bret returned. "Just for your own selfish reasons? You wanted Beau around to have someone to talk to and like you?"

"Would that be so terrible?" Snakes' voice had darkened again.

"Maybe not." Now Bret looked hard at Snakes. "Do you really think you're so despicable? Do you think you don't have any goodness left in you at all?"

Snakes held the gaze for a moment but then broke it, looking away in discomfort. "You know me pretty well after all this time," he said low. "I'm just a battle-scarred, self-serving, bitter old ex-Johnny Reb. You knock over every operation of mine that you can. You know I'm no good and you don't want me cheating on people."

"If you were no good, you wouldn't have saved my life or my family's lives. There's a lot of bitterness in you, alright, but I can't tell if what you hate more is everyone else or yourself." Bret suddenly reached out, grabbing Snakes' hand on the table. "It really is true, isn't it? You can't even see the goodness in your own heart. And when you can't, I don't know what you might do to Beau or Bart or anyone."

Snakes flinched at the touch and started to pull his hand away, but froze at Bret's words. "I stopped being good in the war," he said. "I stopped when I was left broken and bleeding and marred for life, not from the usual war goings-on, but from someone who just plain hated me because I beat him at poker. I wasn't going to let something like that happen to me ever again. I was going to fight. I was going to become as nasty as the people who'd always kicked me down all of my life."

"And you think you have? Ha! You've got a long way to go to really be nasty, Friend." Bret released Snakes' hand. "You contradict yourself a lot. You say you're no good, but you admit you don't want to hurt Beau."

"Then it would be more likely to believe that the last part is a lie," Snakes said.

"No, I think it's much more likely that you fully mean both statements and just can't recognize that it's the first one that isn't true," Bret replied.

Snakes' eyes flickered. "What makes you say that?"

"If actions speak louder than words, then a lot of yours are just screamin'," Bret said. "Oh, you're a real piece of work, alright. There's no mistaking that you're a cheater and a crook. You'll betray people who get in your way. You're not somebody I'd choose for my cousin to associate with.

"But you still have a softer side to you. I remember why you let me go, something that caused your men to get so riled up that they turned and started firing on you instead of me. And you could've been killed when you decided to protect Bart and Beau from that onslaught the other night. Those things weren't done for selfish reasons, at least not altogether."

"Yet you still don't like me talking to Beau," Snakes pointed out.

"No, I don't. Maybe you were just bringing out what Beau was already thinking when you dug into that outcast talk, but you were trying to manipulate him by doing it. I'll be keeping an eye on you to make sure you don't keep trying to subtly get Beau to want to work for you."

"And if I don't?" Snakes returned. "If I just let Beau come talk to me if he wants to and I don't make any more first moves or tell him any more of that stuff?"

"Then maybe I don't have anything to worry about if you and Beau are pals. Beau likes you now, so you'd better never do anything to corrupt him if you want to keep any of the towns you still have left. You know I can make good on that threat and take away everything you have."

Snakes glowered. "And people wonder why I don't like you."

Bret softened. "You know, I wouldn't be surprised if there's a lot of things you've done in the midst of all this crime-bossing that aren't like what a regular crime boss would do at all."

Snakes looked uncomfortable. "If you've thought all along that I'm not all bad, why are we even having this conversation?"

"Because thinking and knowing are two different things." Bret leaned back. "But I think I'm satisfied."

xxxx

After leaving Bret and Snakes to talk, Beau had wandered back to the bedroom to look in on Bart. If Bart _had_ been dozing, he wasn't any longer; he was looking at Beau with clear, wide-awake eyes. "Hello, Beau," he said quietly, seriously.

Beau entered the room and went over to sit next to the bed. "Cousin Bret decided to talk with Snakes," he said. "I pretended to not know what was going on, but I really do."

"Oh? What's going on?" Bart continued to sound casual.

"He's trying to find out about Snakes' interest in me." Beau smiled a bit. "Honestly, it feels nice to be worried about. But in this case, it really isn't necessary. I'm not in over my head, Bart."

Bart looked at him, his eyes flickering in surprise. "And here I thought we were being so careful about not revealing what we were up to."

"Come now, dear cousin. I saw the worry between you two when all three of us were in here together." Beau leaned back in the chair.

"I guess I shouldn't have underestimated a Maverick," Bart said with a weak chuckle.

"Naturally not. And I suppose you and Bret are also wondering how to help me not feel like I don't belong."

"Of course we don't want you to think some crazy thing like that," Bart said. "Beau, even if Pappy will never like your method of individuality, nothing can change that you're a Maverick. And all Mavericks belong."

Beau smiled, somewhat sadly. "It's nice to hear you say it anyway, Cousin Bart. Uncle Beau will likely never fully accept me. You and Cousin Bret are more open-minded; both of you accept me with open arms.

"I suppose I always felt that if I was lacking approval from the head of the family, nothing else was quite good enough. After all, Uncle Beau has always had the final word. But we're all adults now; our opinions should count for something. My father's as well."

"That's the spirit," Bart encouraged. "Yes, I'm afraid you're probably right that things aren't likely to change between you and Pappy. Bret and I were wondering if we should talk to him about it, though."

Beau stiffened. "Oh, I don't know about that. It might only result in him growing angry with both of you. That just wouldn't do at all. I would never want to be the cause of making your father not value your opinions as much. Not to mention what it might do to him. If he thought you both agreed with me, it might absolutely break his heart. I couldn't bear to be responsible for that."

"But we don't agree with you on a lot of things, Beau," Bart protested. "You're too daring and adventurous for us, and we'd make sure Pappy knew that. All we want is for Pappy to know that he needs to treat you better and to respect how you see the world, even if he doesn't agree with it."

"Would Uncle Beau understand that?" Beau worried.

"We'd make sure he did," Bart said firmly. "Bret's not sure talking to him would be a good thing. I'll confess I don't entirely know myself, but I want to trust that Pappy would listen and do the right thing. He's a good man, even if he is too stubborn. I guess that's something all of us have picked up. But Beau . . ." He looked into Beau's eyes. "I'm telling you this because I don't want to go talking to Pappy without your permission. If you'd rather we didn't, we won't."

Beau blinked in surprise. "I . . . I suppose I'm not sure _what_ I think," he admitted. "I'm touched, I really am. But maybe I'll have to think for a while on whether I'd like you and Bret to approach him with any of this. If I thought it would help, I would. But it's such a difficult question."

"I guess it is," Bart said ruefully. "But sure, Beau. Take all the time you need to decide."

"Thank you." Beau paused. "And I'm sorry that all of this was put on you while you're trying to recover from such a ghastly injury. I never would have brought up any of it if you hadn't found out from Snakes."

Bart smiled. "I know." Sobering, he said, "I would have wanted to know how you felt, Beau. I thought we'd all agreed to be more open with each other."

Beau looked down. "We did, but that's not the sort of thing I like to tell anyone. 'Oh, I'm sorry, but I've never felt like I fit into this family. Your father has always managed to make me feel so inferior.'"

Bart hesitated. "Is that why you've been so aloof almost all your life? Before Bret decided we should all talk things out, you always seemed so removed from everything. I mean, you'd be fully into a situation, but you weren't open with me or with Bret. You and I especially were always kind of at arm's length."

"Yes, I suppose that was why," Beau said. "At least at first. After I grew used to feeling apart from the family, I felt uncomfortable to not be aloof. I still do, somewhat. But I've been trying to get used to the idea of being more open."

"That's good," Bart said. "We should all try to keep that up."

Beau nodded, but didn't comment.

"And Beau . . ." Bart reached over, laying a hand on Beau's arm. "I know I'm still not very happy about Snakes having my emergency money, but you gave up yours too and I'm really grateful for that and for everything you did to try to help me. I know it must have been awful for you, dealing with me in such a shape and being chased by our enemies and trying to reason with a character like Snakes when you first met him. I meant what I told Bret, that I'll be alright because of you."

Beau started slightly from the touch. He didn't generally care to be touched, and Bart knew that, but now Bart wanted to make a point. Under those circumstances, Beau didn't mind so much.

"You would have done the same for me," he said. "Or for Cousin Bret."

"That's true," Bart agreed. "We'd all do the same for each other. We're kind of a strange family, but a caring one. We'll always come to help when we're needed."

"When we know we're needed," Beau corrected. His mind had wandered to a time when Bart had gotten in over his head playing tricks on crooks. Beau hadn't known that Bart was genuinely in trouble and he had come looking for the money Bart had borrowed from him to further one of the pranks. Instead, he had found Bart abducted and in serious trouble.

He had to admit he had been exasperated, since Bart had acted like he had everything under control. And although he had of course rescued Bart, he had said he had come for the money and not because he knew Bart needed help—which had been true. He wondered now if Bart had realized that he really hadn't known that Bart was in trouble and that his answer would have been different had he been aware of that.

"Beau?"

Beau started back to the present. "You know I'd always put your safety ahead of money, don't you? If I was aware you were in trouble, that is."

Bart looked at him in surprise. "Of course I do."

Beau relaxed. "Good."

"What's that about all of a sudden?" Bart asked.

"It's nothing," Beau said. "I just wanted to make sure you knew."

"I feel the same about you and Bret," Bart said. "Pappy always taught us to focus on getting and keeping money and more money, but never at the expense of our family's well-being." He paused. "And even if he hadn't taught that, I'd still feel the same."

Beau nodded. "And I _will_ find a way to get your emergency money back to you," he said. "Maybe at the next town we stop at after we leave here."

"That would be nice," Bart said. "I'll feel a lot more like relaxing once I have that back."

"At least you still have your poker winnings from that night," Beau pointed out. "I don't have any money at all to speak of right now."

"That's true," Bart mused. "Oh well. We'll both restock soon enough."

The door opened and Bret entered, seeming calm and at ease. Both Bart and Beau looked to him questioningly.

"Well?" Bart asked.

"You can speak freely in front of me, Cousin Bret," Beau said. "I know what was really happening."

Bret blinked in surprise but then nodded, quickly adapting to that revelation. "I think everything will be fine," he said, sitting down and looking to Bart. "We don't have any real need to worry."

"Snakes told you that?" Bart said doubtfully.

"I figured on that," Bret said. "Remember, I know him better than you two do."

That might be true, Beau thought to himself, but there was still at least one way that he felt he knew Snakes better than his cousins did.

"As strange as it seems," Bret was continuing, "I think Snakes really just wanted a friend."

Bart raised an eyebrow. "That _is_ strange."

"No," Beau said quietly. "It makes sense."

And he smiled a bit.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes: So I keep wondering whether I should have focused more on Bart's recovery than I have. I can't deny I meant the story more to showcase Beau and pick him apart and having Bart hurt was a set-up to show Beau being protective. I don't tend to write scenes detailing characters' recoveries, as that isn't the part of a hurt/comfort scenario that I'm most interested in. (I like the angst of the hurt and the initial squee of the beginning of the recovery.) When I try to write stories with detailed recoveries, they tend to stall after a while. But I'm wondering whether I should go back and write a scene or two of Beau trying to help Bart with the recovery during the time before Bret arrived, something like what Bart talks about with Bret here. I'm not sure if it would break the flow of the story to insert that into chapter six or so. Such is a hazard of posting as I go along, but I really like to have reader input while I'm writing, instead of waiting to post anything until I'm all done.**

**Chapter Eight**

Two evenings later, Snakes looked up as Beau wearily collapsed in the chair next to him at the drawing room table. "Long day?"

Beau shook his head. "Not nearly as much so as before Cousin Bret arrived," he said.

Snakes nodded. Beau had tried to help Bart on his own at first, changing the bandaging and bringing what he needed and, when necessary, helping Bart to stand for brief periods. Snakes hadn't interfered, figuring it was something Beau would prefer to do himself. Then Bret had arrived and that had certainly eased the load.

"I want to ask you something," Beau said.

Snakes shrugged, unconcerned. "Go ahead." He had kept to what he had told Bret; he wasn't going to Beau to talk to him. Instead, he was letting Beau come to him. And Beau continued to want to, which pleased him.

"That first night, in the stable. You seemed genuinely shocked that I would be willing to risk my life for Bart's. Why? You admitted you already knew that we put ourselves in danger for people."

"That's true," Snakes replied. "But oddly enough, it seemed to me that most of what I'd heard involved you helping strangers. And getting money in the end, one way or another. I've heard that Mavericks are concerned with getting money above all else. You crazy people will risk your lives to get more money! I honestly didn't think you'd sacrifice yourself for anyone, even a cousin, if you stood to lose money and not gain it."

Beau frowned. "I suppose you've heard a lot of Uncle Beau's sayings."

"Yeah, I think so," Snakes said. "His sayings usually sound awfully self-serving. Combine that with how he treats you and I think you can see where I've been getting a lot of my ideas about your family."

"Yes." Beau spoke quieter now. "I suppose those kinds of misconceptions are everywhere. Although not all of them are complete misconceptions." But not wanting to dwell on the subject, he pressed forward. "You also seemed to be of the opinion that you are a coward."

"I am," Snakes said matter-of-factly. "Your family usually describes themselves as cowards too."

"Fighting isn't our favorite thing to do, and we'll avoid it if we can, but we'll do it if we must." Beau looked at Snakes firmly. "And so will you, even if by doing so you're risking your own safety. You're not a coward, Snakes."

Snakes looked down, but not before Beau saw a glimmer of discomfort in his eyes. "Thanks for saying that. It's kind of nice, to know that someone thinks I'm worth more than my money."

"I only say it because your actions proved it," Beau insisted. "You didn't run away in the face of trouble, even though you could have and you started to. You came back. And I think that takes more courage than it would to have simply stayed there in the first place."

"That's an interesting way to look at it, anyway," Snakes said.

"I just hope that someday you'll be able to see the good in you," Beau said.

"Oh, that reminds me," Snakes suddenly said. He reached into his coat and took out his wallet. "I was going to give you at least half of this back." He pushed a thousand dollar bill to Beau's part of the table.

Beau stared at it. "Why?" He picked it up and examined it all over, as if to try to assure himself that it was not counterfeit.

Snakes shrugged. "I've liked having you around. And getting you to give me your money was mostly just a test. I wondered if you'd do it. Then I wondered if you'd try to get it back, so I held onto it. I think by now I've established that you're too honorable to come after it since I helped you and your cousin, so I'm letting this much go."

"But you're holding onto the other portion?" Beau looked at the bill longingly. He would have to give it to Bart, of course, since Bart hadn't had any say in whether his money would be used to this end.

Snakes scowled, but took out the second bill. "I wanted to give back your money more than your cousin's, and I have been racking up some expenses over the last few days, but go ahead and take this one too."

Beau frowned. "What would you say are the costs of these expenses?"

Snakes leaned back, thinking. "Maybe half the bill? . . . No," he sighed then. "More like a couple hundred at the most."

"I'll pay you four hundred," Beau decided. "You've done us so many good turns. You deserve to get something for your trouble. Especially since at least this time, you're apparently giving up on that idea of having 'all' the money that was offered to you."

Snakes looked at him for a moment, as though trying to decide whether he was serious. But then he stuffed the bill back in his wallet and counted out six hundred dollars. "Take this then," he grunted.

Beau quickly gathered the money and put it, along with Bart's thousand, into his wallet. "Thank you," he said in relief.

"Now you know why I don't do a lot of these good turns," Snakes remarked. "They'd bankrupt me!"

"Oh, I'm sure you could figure out how to still get ahead," Beau said. "A cunning fellow like you. And if you ever decide to get out of the crime business and try to find legitimate ways to bring about the world you envisioned, look me up. I might be interested in coming onboard, at least for a time."

"I'll remember that," Snakes said. "But don't count on me ever getting out."

"I won't; you're obviously very good at what you do. However, that only makes me think of what an asset you could be to the world of legitimate business." Beau leaned back. "It _is_ a shame."

"Oh well. The good guys will just have to get along without me," Snakes shrugged.

"I wonder."

Snakes shot Beau a suspicious look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm just wondering how much good you do under the cover of being dangerous and deadly," Beau replied. "No one filled with evil could suddenly show kindness that they never extend any longer."

Snakes flushed. "You've got some of your cousin in you."

"Well, Cousin Bret _does_ say he knows you best," Beau smiled. "And he believes you still are good, deep down."

"Cousin Bret believes in fairytales," Snakes retorted. "And you'd better never say any of these things outside these walls."

"I promise I won't," Beau assured him. "Remember, as I said, Mavericks don't like it to get around that they're soft-hearted, either. It's better for business that way."

"Good," Snakes shot back.

xxxx

Bret leaned back as he finished bathing his brother's healing wound. "There," he said. "It looks like it's mending up real good."

"That's a relief," Bart sighed. "I wouldn't be able to sit up in a poker chair feeling like I have been lately."

"It'll probably scar, though."

Bart shook his head. "Oh well. I guess we all have scars we've collected over the past few years. What's one more?"

"Now that's the right attitude to take," Bret smiled.

He washed his hands in the basin and set the pitcher aside. "You were kind of spacing out on me for a while," he remarked as he dried his hands and went for the fresh bandages. "Did I really have that unnoticeable of a touch?"

"Well, it's getting so the sting isn't as bad," Bart said as he watched Bret work on covering the wound. He still cringed to have to move in order for Bret to bring the gauze around him, but he gritted his teeth and struggled to raise just enough to allow the healing cloth to slip under his back.

"It looks like you're still pretty miserable," Bret said.

"It was really a mess when Beau was trying to deal with it. Especially the first day he was trying to do what you're doing now." Bart looked guilty. "I could barely stand to move at all. I know Pappy taught us not to go swearing our mouths off, but I couldn't always make myself hold back."

"Well, Beau was probably doing some cussing when he was healing up," Bret said. "Even if he did it in his head."

"That wasn't the worst of it," Bart said regretfully. "If I had just swore at him, I wouldn't feel so bad. I kept complaining about the pain and him taking my emergency money. . . . Sometimes the pain was so bad I was half out of my head. But other times I really knew what I was saying and I let it come out anyway. I'm ashamed of that, especially now that I really know about Beau's feelings. I never should have said those things."

"Now, I'm sure Beau understood that you were just acting out because you'd been hurt," Bret said. Finished with wrapping the wound, he tied the bandaging off and brought the covers up around Bart's shoulders as a relieved Bart sank back into the mattress.

"I'm sure he also knew that I was downright upset about what he'd done with my money," Bart sighed. "You know, I shouldn't have even been complaining. At least I still _had_ some money. He gave up everything he had on him."

"That's true," Bret mused. "But it's hard to lose any amount of money when you're not planning on it."

Bart nodded. "Beau really did well helping me, though. Actually, I was kind of surprised, since he's never had much experience tending to either of us when we're hurt. You and I deal with it more than we'd like to admit."

"Beau's a capable sort. He adjusts pretty easy to anything, if he has to."

"Even when he shouldn't have to," Bart said quietly.

"Like being sent away," Bret said.

"Exactly." Bart sighed. "I know it doesn't do any good to think about it now, but I wish we'd done more to try to change Pappy's mind on that."

"There wasn't anything we could've done," Bret objected. "Especially when we couldn't get home to Texas. Anyway, Beau loved it in England. I just try to think about that part of it."

"I do too, but it doesn't change that he shouldn't have been forced to go there as a punishment." Bart gripped the quilt.

"He didn't have to go," Bret said. "He could have refused."

"But he wouldn't, because he tries to honor Pappy." Bart leaned back and stared at the ceiling.

"Are you bothered by things too?" Bret wondered.

"I am, kind of." Bart looked to his older brother. "I didn't used to be, so much. I guess I always just trusted Pappy to do the right things for us. But I thought he was overreacting about Beau in the war. And when he cussed Beau out for getting shot, none of us could end up keeping quiet about that. I guess I . . ." He passed a hand over his eyes. "I guess I'm just really confused by now, Bret. I love Pappy and I know he means well, but I don't always think he's right and I think he could be a lot nicer to Beau. I wish he would be."

"I know." Bret laid a hand on Bart's shoulder. "I wish that too."

Bart fell silent for a moment. ". . . How do you feel about getting out of here soon, Brother Bret?"

Bret regarded him in surprise. "Fine, if you're really up for it. Which I doubt."

Bart sighed. "Maybe I'll be good enough to go soon. I don't really want to hang around here too much longer."

"Snakes still makes you nervous, huh?"

"That, and I just plain don't know what to make of him," Bart said in dismay. "I'm sorry about that, after he's helped us and all, but I keep feeling like he's making my relationship with Beau even harder to sort out. It was bad enough before."

"I hear you," Bret said. "But if this problem was always kind of there, boiling under the surface, I guess it had to come out sooner or later."

"It's hard to think of that, too," Bart admitted. "I keep wondering if it isn't true and Beau only started coming up with this stuff because of Snakes."

"I don't think so." Bret looked firmly into Bart's eyes. "Beau was always kind of troubled . . . kind of sad. He hid it pretty well most of the time, but sometimes I saw something of it. He'd shrug it off when I'd try to ask him about it. Say it was nothing. I tried to believe him, but . . ." He shook his head. "I guess I shouldn't have."

"I was around him more than you were and I didn't pick up on anything that much," Bart said. "How could I have been so stupid?!"

"It's not your fault Beau's a darn good actor," Bret said. "Actually, that's a trait all of us Mavericks have to some extent."

"He's sure one of us, alright," Bart said. "And Pappy would agree . . . even if he doesn't approve of everything Beau gets into."

"He would at that," Bret agreed with a smile.

xxxx

Bret found Beau out on the porch that night, leaning against a pillar and gazing out at the clear sky.

"What are you doing out here, Cousin?" Bret greeted.

"Just thinking." Beau looked over at him. "It's been a strange last few days. I tried so hard to save Cousin Bart when he was hurt. We rode for hours with him injured. Finally we found the stable and I was going to leave him there and go for a doctor in town. I didn't want to leave him, but I didn't see that I had any other choice.

"I met Snakes right about then. I didn't like or trust him at all at first, and with good reason. He certainly did his best to present himself as a thoroughly reprehensible human being. Part of me wonders if any of that was the truth—that he would have left Bart somewhere to bleed to death, only not in the hay, because that was ruining business . . . that he would have turned me over to our enemies for the money they'd pay . . . that he might have taken care of Bart for a price, but might or might not have continued after my death. . . ."

Beau looked back out at the night. "But adding up all the pieces of the mystery Snakes is, I can't really believe much of that. I think he was testing me all along. Maybe he would have turned me in for the money, but only if he thought I was as wretched as he had it in his head I was. And I can't believe he would have just let Bart die in any case."

Bret placed his hand on the other side of the pillar. "No, I can't really believe that, either. He never was the type. He might grumble and growl a bit and be scared to death to help out, but he always seems to do the right thing when it comes to innocent people in trouble. Guilty people in trouble is another thing altogether. Then he'll usually either be selfish or greedy, or both. He'll help them if they offer him enough. Otherwise, he'll probably let them burn and help himself to the spoils."

"He _did_ seem to be trying to tell me that he subscribes to a certain dark justice," Beau said. "I suppose he must think of himself as judge and jury. If I had to guess, I would say that deep down, he despises what he's become and he takes it upon himself to punish those he feels are like himself or worse."

"I would say that's probably a pretty close guess," Bret nodded.

"You called him a scared kid drunk on power," Beau remembered. "Do you think that will ever come back to haunt him?"

"It always seems to eventually, doesn't it?" Bret returned.

Beau's brow furrowed. "I wish he would get out of the crime business." _I don't want him hurt._

"I'm afraid he never will. That he couldn't even if he wanted to."

"He should be able to," Beau objected. "There aren't any charges against him. If he dropped everything illegitimate, he could instead turn his business into something decent. Isn't he his own boss?"

"Maybe," Bret said slowly. "There's rumors on the wind. Maybe there's nothing to them, but I've heard tell that he answers to somebody. If he does, I'm sure they'd never let him get out."

"Oh." Beau looked away. "I hope he won't be in trouble for helping us."

"Since we didn't learn about any of his operations here, there shouldn't be any trouble," Bret tried to reassure him.

Beau nodded. "I hope not. If he gets in trouble, all of us could as well," he suddenly realized.

"Well, just don't think about that," Bret soothed. "It shouldn't happen. We should be able to get out of here just fine."

Beau fell silent again. "I was so afraid when Bart was hurt," he confessed. "I'd never encountered anything that serious before. I knew you had and Bart had. I was terrified that I wouldn't handle it as well as either of you have and Bart might die because of my incompetence."

"Instead, Bart's going to be just fine because of your wits," Bret said. "You came through a really dangerous situation with flying colors."

"Yes, well . . . I hope none of us will have to go through something like that again."

"I'm sure with you on that," Bret declared. "All the way."


	9. Epilogue

**Notes: I added a little bit at the beginning of chapter six, but that's probably as much as I'm going to alter. Thank you to everyone who has been reading and enjoying this story! I've had so much fun writing it and I do intend to write more stories involving the Mavericks and Snakes. (Eventually maybe I'll finish the oneshot story where Bret describes his first meeting with Snakes, something I started writing months ago.)**

**Epilogue**

The day Bart was well enough to leave dawned sunny, but grew overcast as the morning wore on.

Beau's feelings were mixed. He was relieved that Bart was finally on the mend to that extent. He would still need to take it easy for a while, but his strength was returning and the wound was healing and he was anxious to be on the move.

Beau didn't want to make him stay longer when he did not want that at all. Still, it seemed a bit strange to leave the house after having spent so many days there. And more than leaving the house, Beau had to admit that what he regretted the most was leaving Snakes.

He wouldn't exactly say they were friends, but they had definitely bonded in a certain way that was different from the grudging respect yet mutual dislike between Bret and Snakes. He wasn't going to do anything about this town of Snakes'. But although he didn't quite like the thought of disrupting any of Snakes' work, he imagined that if he actually ever stumbled across Snakes cheating people or other unseemly things, he would follow Bret's lead and do something about it. He had to admit, however, that he hoped that would not happen.

"You know," Bart cut into his thoughts, "you don't have to come if you don't want to. I can leave with Bret."

Beau started back to the present. Bart was just finishing a light meal and preparing to get up with Bret and Beau's help. Bret had already turned back the quilt.

"Oh . . . what would I do here?" Beau answered lightly. "You know how much of the traveling blood is in my veins. Since I won't be joining forces with Snakes, I wouldn't have much to do in a town that he controls."

"That's probably true," Bart agreed. "But still . . ." He cringed, holding a hand to his side as he tried to shift to a sitting position.

"Are you sure you're able to leave?!" Beau exclaimed with a frown.

"It's not much good to ask a Maverick that question," Bret drawled. "He'll probably say he is even if he isn't."

"You're no help," Bart complained. "I'd say we've imposed on Snakes' hospitality enough. The carriage is already outside waiting. If I can just get up and get dressed, we can be on our way."

Bret and Beau got on either side of the stubborn Bart and tried to make his ascent that much easier. "You've only recently started to get used to standing again at all," Beau remarked. "You should really stay until you've been able to grasp it a bit more thoroughly."

"I'm doing it just fine," Bart retorted, not fully wanting to admit that he just wasn't comfortable staying in a crime boss's house.

Said crime boss suddenly appeared in the doorway. "So you're really planning on leaving this time, eh?" Snakes greeted.

"I'd say it's about time," Bart said. "Wouldn't you?"

Snakes shrugged. "It hasn't been that bad."

"Not bad at all," Beau chimed in.

Snakes smiled a bit at that. But he quickly turned so as to hide it. "Well, if you're leaving, you'd better come right now. The cabbie don't like to be kept waiting." He walked off.

"That's right, Brother Bart, so we'd better hustle along," Bret said. As Bart tried to stand on his own, with Beau right there to help if needed, Bret came over with a fresh shirt and helped Bart slide his arms into it.

"Thanks," Bart said. He slowly buttoned the shirt. "I wonder sometimes about those people over in Europe who actually have people to help them dress all the time. It seems awfully lazy when they're physically capable of doing it all on their own."

"It does, doesn't it?" Bret mused.

"I've met some of those people," Beau said. "It's just a way of life for many of them. But I don't believe I'd care to participate myself."

"No, that just wouldn't be the life for someone as private as you, Cousin Beau," Bart said. "You flinch at innocent touches. I hate to think what would happen if someone tried to dress you when you weren't injured."

"It was awkward enough as it was when I _was_ injured," Beau commented.

"It _was_ pretty complicated, wasn't it?" Bret mused. "You kept trying to insist you could do it when you really couldn't and we went through it every day until you finally gave up and let us help you."

"Well . . ." Beau shrugged. "Old habits die hard."

"And it's a good thing you do, too," Bart said.

"That goes for you as well, Cousin Bart," said Beau.

Bret smiled. "It goes for all of us, I'd say."

"By the way . . ." Beau reached for Bart's coat with one hand and held it up so he could see the thousand-dollar bill pinned inside. "I believe this belongs to you."

Bart stared at it with wide, amazed eyes. "Beau! Where on Earth did you get this? Did you challenge Snakes after all? I didn't think you had it in you!"

"I didn't," Beau replied with a smile as he and Bret placed the coat around Bart's shoulders. "Snakes gave it back. And no, neither Cousin Bret nor I appealed to him to do it."

"I can't believe it," Bart breathed. "Did he give back everything?"

"I let him have some," Beau admitted awkwardly. "I didn't think it would be right to not pay him something for all the time we've been here."

"No, I don't rightly imagine it would," Bret mused.

Sobering, Bart ran his hand over the bill pinned to his coat, as though still unable to fully believe it. "Thank you, Beau," he said quietly. He didn't ask whether Beau had retrieved all of his own money; obviously he hadn't, if he had let Snakes take some of it.

"Well, now that that's taken care of, let's be on our way, shall we?" Beau said lightly.

The brothers were in firm agreement.

It was both strange and wonderful, to help Bart out of the house and into the carriage. Beau could not help remembering when they had arrived on that frightful night and he had carefully helped Bart out of the carriage and into the house. He had been so limp then, motionless and in pain. He was still pained now, but it wasn't life-threatening. Beau knew he would live.

Bart slumped back on the seat, grateful to be able to rest again. Bret sat next to him, observing him and ready to make sure he wouldn't fall.

"See you around, you old rascal," he called to Snakes, who had come out to watch them leave. "I hate to think where we might end up meeting next."

"That makes two of us," Snakes growled.

"Thanks for letting us stay here," Bart said, trying to rise up enough to catch Snakes' eye. "And for all that you did to help me."

"Just see that it's not all wasted," Snakes said. "Finish getting better and don't overdo it. And try to stay away from knives!"

"Don't worry. I'll do my best!" Bart proclaimed.

Beau, who was about to climb into the carriage, paused and turned to Snakes.

"Thank you for everything," he said quietly, holding out his hand. "Goodbye, my friend."

Snakes regarded Beau in surprise, but took his hand and shook it. "Don't be a stranger," he said gruffly. "Come around some time. Look me up on the riverboat circuit. You'll be given a fair and honest ride if you come aboard one of my boats."

Beau smiled. "I just may do that. And you may regret giving me a free pass."

"Yeah, I might," Snakes grunted. "But come anyway and we'll see."

Beau laughed and ascended into the carriage, on the opposite seat. Snakes stepped back, allowing the driver and the horses to lead them away.

"Funny," he said aloud to nothing in particular. "First he didn't want anything more to do with me than he had to have. Now, he called me his friend. And he meant it."

He turned, walking slowly back to the house.


End file.
